#subtle sugar daddy stuff

[lovingapparition]

If Would Sure Do Me Good (to do you good)

Genre: Angst, Slow Burn, Smalltown American Aesthetics

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

A retired Simon moves to town. There are vibes.

Light warning for not very subtle sugar daddy implications that will ramp up later on.

AO3 Link

Modern civilization would be all but dead and gone, turned to dust, before this guy stopped talking. He's a regular at this dingy little convenience store, in at exactly 5:15pm Monday through Friday because it's, “just down the road from my job, and on my way home!” he reminds you, over and over as if you could possibly forget after being told for the second time that week. He insists you call him Pat but you never do, he's mostly just this fucking guy in your head. And boy, does this fucking guy love to yap your ears off. 

You blink rapidly, not that he notices, focusing in on his hands. They're dirty, always are, with some weird mystery grime that makes you vaguely queasy when he hands you his warm dollar bills. You think he might be a mechanic, he must have told you at some point, but information like that doesn't really stick during the evening rushes because hello dude there's like ten people behind you- 

Deep breaths. You are taking deep breaths, nodding, and smiling. The guy pauses for a breath, and you pounce. “So your total’s gonna be $13.47, the usual,” with a tight smile, your jaw a little clenched. Across the counter, he hums and digs his wallet out of his pocket. He's still describing something, gesticulating with his free hand before he pulls out a few bills. Through a couple of well-placed hums and nods you manage to focus on counting the proper change from the drawer. He pockets it without recounting his bills, too busy looking right at you as he tells you to, “Have a good night. Stay warm, honey.” 

Ugh. 

At least the next few transactions go quick, other people also getting off work but not as willing to talk your ear off. The weather was too cold for anyone else to feel like idly chatting. Your shift was just beginning, and already you felt worn out. Working evenings into the early hours of the morning wasn't ideal, but a job is a job. You value paying your rent more than seeing the sun or having time to hang out with your friends and family, at the moment. At least your cat was always happy to see you at one in the morning. 

When the first rush eventually slows down, you're able to take what feels like your first real breath since clocking in. You let your mind wander as you wipe the counters down, fill out the daily logs, and stare at the grimy spot on the ceiling that seems to grow inch by inch each time it rains or snows. It's all become a familiar routine, as horrifically boring as it is. You'd listen to a podcast or something in one ear bud if you could, but your phone barely got service inside the old building. A perk of the cheapest phone plan you could find.

The night goes without too much fuss, and when you've tidied the shelves and double-checked that your boss hasn't left any cryptic notes for you to interpret, you find yourself leaning against the counter. There's early 2000’s rock playing softly over the old speakers, and you desperately wish that your boss would give you permission to change it to anything other than 98.8 FM The Rock. 

Against your will you hum along to a Nickelback song as you watch the clock tick its way closer and closer to 9:30pm. Lunch. Also known as the only time you were allowed to lock the store. Your boss doesn't really vibe with the idea of paying two people at a time, so obviously you still had to help customers on your fifteen-minute breaks.

Halfway through the song you step out from behind the counter to go lock the front door. It's dark outside, and the street lamps cast everything in a warm, rusty yellow. The unshoveled and slushy snow looks like crushed gold, mixed with the oil and dirt from the parking lot. Inside, the lights inside Mo’s Mart buzz overhead. Their sickly green cast makes you feel a little ill if you think about it too hard. Looking outside just reminds you of it. You try to not feel disappointed as you trudge back to the counter to sit down for the first time in four and a half hours. 

The stool beneath you is only a little rickety, and you sigh as you lower yourself into it. For lunch you pull a bag of potato chips out of your bag. You'd bought them from the store yesterday and saved half for tonight. At a certain point the frozen burritos and hot pockets stopped being appetizing. This isn't much better, though. The chips are already going a little stale, gumming up in your molars as you chew. 

You're in the middle of digging at the crevices in your teeth with your tongue, zoned completely out as you stare at yesterday's crossword section from a newspaper your boss had left out. To be without. Six letters across and it ends in T. You're tapping your pen against the paper in thought, trying to ignore the urge to check the clock to see how much time you've got left on your break. You know you've got to have at least- 

The locked front door clunking in the frame snatches your attention. You sigh. There are three loud knocks on the glass. You set your pen down. Without a doubt in your mind you know you taped the handwritten, “On break! Back at 10!” sign up at eye level. When you look up and make eye contact with the man out front, this only seems to incense him. You recognize him, a regular who's never really happy about anything. Why he keeps shopping at Mo’s you'll never understand. He shouts something that's muffled through the door, like you're the asshole right now. A quick glance tells you that you've got eight minutes until the inevitably awkward confrontation where you have to let him in. You would rather sink into the tiled floor and never come out. It almost makes the rest of the break not even worth taking.

Almost. 

Trying to quell the unease his presence brings, you stay behind the counter. It's your break, and it's your right to take it without having to worry about some guy who wants his convenience store snacks in the middle of the night.

When you approach the door you try to avoid his eyes, you can practically feel him staring daggers already. As soon as the lock turns in your fingers he's pushing the door open, brushing past you as he haphazardly stomps the snow and salt off of his boots. You mentally add sweeping and mopping back onto your short mental to-do list. 

You count your breath on the inhale, and again on the exhale, as you walk back to the counter. The small monitor on the cluttered counter shows the store’s security cameras on three separate little boxes. You’re vaguely aware of the man hovering by the liquor section, but you can’t bring yourself to head out into the center of the store to bother him in the hopes of deterring theft, your boss be damned. His abrupt entry brought in enough cold air to make you shiver and jam your hands into your pockets. Standing behind the counter gives you an odd sense of security as the guy wanders from aisle to aisle. You know exactly where the store's panic button is under the counter should anything go away. Some cynical part of you wonders if it even works, knowing how cheap Mo is. 

The door chiming as someone else enters the store jolts you out of thought. You turn your head to greet the customer and you're met with probably the scariest individual you've ever seen. He's huge, wearing a heavy black work coat that doesn't hide the bulk of his body. The fact that he's wearing a skull print balaclava is what makes it worse. This guy could be totally normal and just wearing it because it's snowing out. He could also be about to ruin your night. 

He's looking right at you as he beelines to the counter. 

Anxiety bleeds into your hands, makes them feel like you've just stuck them in freezing water. Slowly, you take them out of your pockets and press them flat on the counter. You watch your own fingers spread out. From some job training or another, you recall that it's worse to look into the eyes of someone trying to rob you. “Hey there,” you try and fail to sound like you're not nervous. “What can I get you?” He's quiet for a long time. Too long. Risking a glance up at him, you find he's not even looking at you. The guy is carefully scanning the rows of cigarettes behind you.

You breathe a small sigh of relief. He doesn't say anything and you don't feel like pushing your luck tonight. You scoot over to the side and quietly thumb over your abandoned crossword. With a quick glance up you can see the man running a gloved hand over his jaw. There's a faint sound of his stubble rubbing against the balaclava. His eyes are dark, half lidded. Without moving his head, his gaze flicks to meet yours, and you look away without even thinking. Bright blue. Jesus Christ this is awkward. You tap your pen against the newsprint, wishing whatever was happening right now would just end. This guy isn't a regular, and he's certainly no one you've ever seen around town. Fingers crossed he's just passing through, never to be seen again. 

“Hey dickhead, anytime now!” Your head jerks up. The masked man slowly looks over his shoulder. The guy who came in earlier is cradling a bottle of cheap rum and a liter of coke, clearly pissed about the long wait. Your stomach feels like it's about to fall out of your ass. A stranger you've never seen and a pissy regular, what could possibly go wrong? Chewing at your lip, you take a step back from the counter. 

“Hey Marvin, I can get you over here. Relax,” you say over the stranger's shoulder, just barely managing to remember his name. You've carded him everyone else in this town enough to remember a few faces. The giant man in front of you steps over wordlessly as if Marvin hadn't just insulted him. Wanting to get him out as quickly as possible to avoid anymore confrontation, you check Marvin out. He's still grumbling to himself, working the toothpick in his cheek with his teeth. “Have a good night. Drive safe,” you tell him as you hand him his brown paper-bagged liquor. Marvin scoffs at you and yanks his items from your hands. You try not to react as he lets the door slam on his way out. 

The fluorescent lights buzz above you. Coldplay is on the radio, crackling softly. The man approaches your register, already reaching into his coat for his wallet. “I'll have your cheapest menthols,” he rumbles in an accent you've definitely never heard in town. What the hell was this guy doing in Mo’s this late at night? The vibes were sketching you the fuck out. You school your face into as neutral of an expression as you can manage and turn to reach for a pack of Marlboro Black Menthol 100’s from the shelf of tobacco products behind you. The man is looking down at your crossword, still unfinished, when you turn back to him. You were half tempted to ask where he was from. You don’t. 

When you ask him for ID he hands you a card from his wallet. Upon inspection, you find that it’s a British Military ID and heavily censored. It only tells you his first and last name initials. S. R. The photo is censored as well. As far as you can tell, it looks real to you. If it’s not, then he’s gone through an awful lot of effort for the worst cigarettes Mo’s has to offer. You weren’t in the business of prying. Most everyone else who lives in town you stopped carding years ago. Over time you just know through the grapevine who has what birthdays and when. Hard not too. Regardless, you nod uneasily at the man and carefully slide his ID back to his side of the counter.

You tell the man his total and he slides you a crisp twenty, avoids touching you directly. With a quick hand, you count his change back to him. It's all very normal until he neatly drops the cash into the dusty tip jar by the register. What the fuck? The cigarettes were barely five dollars, and you're pretty sure in your entire tenure at Mo's you've never been tipped anything other than the loose coins people don't want to keep. You're in the middle of trying to figure out how to thank him when he nods to you once, and turns to leave. 

Stunned, you have no idea how to react. Genuinely what the fuck was any of that? You eye the tip jar suspiciously as if the man had filled it with Monopoly money instead of enough cash to buy yourself a couple of hot meals. You entertain the idea of going to the local burger place you used to love as a kid. Hot, fresh fries and a large coke would probably fix you at least a little bit, you think. When you return to the comfort of your crossword you see in very neat, small handwriting, that the last word has been penned in. 

Bereft. 

The rest of the night goes without much else of note happening. You sweep the floors and mop the salt and grey sludge from the entrance. The coolers are stocked and the cash drawer is counted when your replacement arrives at two in the morning. Mo liked to keep the place open 24 hours since it was close enough to a busy highway that folks came through at all hours of the day. Your coworker, Olivier, arrives a little early so you can check them out at the register. Each morning they like to buy an energy drink in a tall pink can and whatever gummies they wanted to snack on that day. You enjoyed the little moments you got to have together. Olivier was one of the few people in this town who you could relate to. Their hair seemed to change color and style by the week, and they always had the best fashion sense. It seemed they were an expert at thrifting in a way you could only dream of. Layering different fabrics and patterns, they seemed to somehow never repeat an exact outfit.

“How was everything? Good night?” they ask, already rooting through their bag of gummies for the blue ones. You shrug, making a high-pitched noise somewhere in your throat. Olivier, bless them, immediately understands. “Did that weird masked guy come in again? He pulled in with a giant moving truck the other night.”

This immediately perks you up. “No shit?” That guy was moving here? “What's wrong with him?” you half-joke as you punch out on the register. Olivier chuckles with you, and the shared judgment over a new face in town reminds you how glad you are to have them. These small moments in the quiet hours of the morning made the town feel like it wasn't so small and empty. 

As you pull your heavy coat on you look out the windows into the parking lot. The lot had been heavily salted, but it was dusting snow. You could see the suspended motes in the yellow street lights outside. Part of you was a little jealous of Olivier. This time of the morning always seemed so peaceful and quiet. You knew you’d never want to work their hours though. Waking up at midnight to get ready for work? No thanks. You wish Olivier a good shift as you pull your gloves on, before pushing out into the parking lot. The air shocks a chill into your chest as you breathe it in. Your breath puffs in a heavy cloud as you exhale. Already you could feel your fingers burning as the cold licked it’s way through your heavy layers. Awkwardly, to avoid slipping, you shuffle your way across the lot to your truck. It’s a little blue beat-up thing. How you’ve managed to keep it running all these years, you have no idea. Apparently, luck and hoping for the best are good enough for the ancient beater. It takes a couple tries to get the engine to turn over, and you sigh in relief when it finally roars to life. After idling in the cabin for a few minutes, you shift into drive and begin the slow crawl home. The roads aren’t plowed, but it’s not slick enough to worry you. The sound of snow crunching beneath the tires, barely audible over the low hum of the radio, accompanies you home. 

When you pull into the driveway you can feel your shift finally weighing down on you. You turn the key and slouch down in the seat, eyes shut. Your feet are cold. Your shoulders sag under your heavy coat, but you're somehow not warm enough. The cold always finds a way in. After a few moments, you manage to drag yourself out of the truck and you make the short walk to your front door. The only benefit of small-town living was the fact that you could afford the rent on this little house. Never mind the fact that you were pretty sure your landlord lived about an hour and forty-five minutes up the highway and owned most of the houses in your street. 

Your nightly routine goes without much fuss. Tabitha, your cat, is pleased that you've come home on time to refill her dish with wet food. You undress, shower, and bundle back up in your warmest sleeping clothes. The house is cold, no matter how well you insulate the windows and the cracks in the baseboards. In the dark, you sit in bed with microwaved pasta in its plastic packaging with the instructions on the side. It's not good but it warms your belly and fills you up. As you eat you scroll on your phone, lazily browsing your social media and clicking through posts. Your mind wanders to the man you saw today. He was odd, and him moving here was even stranger. In all your life you can't really remember anyone moving into the town. Mostly your friends from high school have slowly trickled out, save for Olivier. You weren't sure why you'd never left for the bigger city, you'd just never felt the pull to get out and see more. 

When you sleep that night it's restless as ever. You wake up often, teeth chattering. Your cat is nestled somewhere beneath the blankets with you, and you're careful not to roll onto her. You vow to do a once over, just to see if you can stuff any more of your hand-me-down towels into the draftier baseboards. It feels like it's been winter forever now, but with Christmas barely around the corner, you knew it had just begun. 

—

You start seeing that guy around town. You pass by him in the grocery store. He's got a cart full of stuff, and you figure he's just stocking his kitchen. You grab your scant groceries, milk, and some canned goods that will last. While you're in the checkout line he pushes his cart behind you, leaving a respectful amount of space. You're not really the type to engage in the painfully long-winded Midwestern custom of talking about everything you possibly can, so you don't acknowledge him. You set your items down on the belt when it's your turn, and you offer a polite smile to the cashier. 

“Hey, find everything okay?” he asks, nice as you please. 

“I did, thanks Carter.” He was a few grades above you back in school. He also stuck around after his class had graduated. You vaguely wonder each time about his dreams of joining the military, and whatever happened to them. Maybe it was just life that happened. You know he's got a little boy to take care of with his high school sweetheart and another on the way. Maybe that was all it came down to, at the end of the day. 

Carter tells you your total and you mentally curse. You'd counted your cash twice before you'd come in the store, and you were certain you'd been doing the right math as you grabbed your items. Carter gently angles the register's screen to you so you can see the line items. God damn. You'd just plain miscalculated, probably too tired to keep it all straight in your head. You look down at the things you'd grabbed, trying to calculate what you could do without. You force a laugh. Humiliation roils in a dark pit in your chest. You find yourself speaking without thinking, “Oh whoops! Sorry, go ahead and take off the soup cans.” Carter, bless his heart, doesn't make a fuss. He punches the register keys quickly and counts the cash you hand him. You very much do not want to look at the stranger behind you. You pray to whatever god might be listening that maybe he wasn't being as nosey as everyone else was in this town, and that he didn't just hear that you can't really afford an armful of groceries. 

Carter hands you your single plastic bag, tells you to “Have a good one, hon,” You speed walk back to your truck, your breath puffing in clouds around you. 

–

The next time you see him you're driving to work. The radio is playing softly and your truck's heaters are blowing semi-cold air onto you. You're stopped at a light when you see the guy, dressed in a light coat and the same balaclava. He's jogging, somehow managing to work a sweat on the cold. You have no idea what kind of psychopath goes on a run in the dead of winter. When the light turns green you have to drag your eyes off of him before you accelerate through the light. 

It was rare that anyone in your town went on a jog. Unheard of in the winter. You were certain the old ladies would be gossiping up a storm at church. You figured it was no different than you and Olivier at Mo’s. You smile at the thought of sharing your sighting of the masked stranger with Olivier tonight. The little chats in the quiet morning hours were a light in the dark of winter. 

It was easy to get lost in the cold. It seemed all your waking hours were spent in the dark, during these months. You'd wake up later in the afternoon, always too tired to rise any earlier. It wasn't great for your mental health, but neither would being homeless. You'd take your victories where you could get them. Without much family nearby to rely on, you had to get by on your own.

The joy of adulthood.

–

You see him again that same night. He comes in around midnight. He's the first customer in around an hour. There had been a small rush of truckers passing through, trying to make it off the major highways before some snowfall was forecast to hit the area. You note that he's better dressed for the weather than he was earlier while he was jogging. He's in the same black work coat and leather gloves as before. You find it hard to meet his eye when he approaches the counter. 

Something about seeing him in town made the transaction feel off in a way that you've never experienced before. Getting Janet her pack of Marlboro Reds and ringing her son Nick up for his energy drinks was never sullied by the fact that you saw them at the Sonic Drive-In in their old beater from time to time. Seeing him now with the sense that he was apparently sticking around in town made you feel strange. You didn't know anything about him besides his initials and the skull print on his balaclava. Knowing he was likely some retired military operative from a foreign country was nerve-wracking and exciting and weird as hell for your little town. You had no idea how to interact with him. 

When you're getting the register open to count his change, you can't help but blurt out, “Are you liking it here?” Immediately you wish you could stuff the words back in your mouth when you see his eyes flick to meet yours. How on Earth could anyone be enjoying one of the worst winters your town has seen in years? 

To your surprise he humors you. “It's nice. Quiet,” he says after a beat. You blink at him, quickly looking back down to the cash you're supposed to be counting back to him. 

“Good. That's good. Folks can be weird about new people, but I'm glad you're settling in.” Oh God, you're rambling. Make it stop. 

To this, he hums. It's a low sound, almost silent, deep in his chest. You suppose that's the only response you're getting as he accepts the cash. You slide his pack of menthols across the counter. Your eyes widen as he doesn’t even recount the bills you’ve handed him, just folds them once and drops them into the tip jar. Sputtering already, cheeks red with embarrassment, you search for words but find none. This had to be about the grocery store. You were completely fine. Really, you were. You get paid this week and you would definitely go back to the store and probably pick up some extra groceries. None of this is coming out of your mouth though, as the man has basically vanished already. You can hear his truck starting up outside, the crunch of the snow and gravel as it pulls out of the lot. 

Guilt rolls through you, thick and familiar. You had no idea what to make of this guy. First, he blows into your dead-end town and starts leaving you ridiculous tips on the cheapest cigarettes possible? What the fuck? It makes you feel ashamed and unnerved. No one had ever given you more than the change they simply didn’t want to carry around, and you’d never expected anything more than that. 

When you talk it over with Olivier that night in the early hours, they eye you mischievously, clearly very interested in the man’s motives to give you excessively large tips. “C’mon, let the guy toss you a little cash here and there, it’s a free country. He can do what he wants, even if it's to give all his money away,” they tease over the lip of an energy drink. You hang your head, groaning in response. 

“I dunno… I don’t know what to make of it, is all,” you admit. That little pit of nervousness in your gut had been sitting heavily all night. Olivier gives you a pitying look. 

“Don’t worry too much about it, I think you should just let it ride. And tell me all of the details.” You can’t help but choke a small laugh at their insistence on being in the know. Almost nothing new ever came to town, of course it was the juiciest thing ever to Olivier. You give them a weary smile and wish them a good shift before heading out.

–

The next few weeks are more of the same. You see the man around town, like any other local. At the grocery store, he’s always got a cart full of food, and you’re sure to hurry off out of his way with your armfuls of items. Once or twice you’ve seen him meandering around the local shops, and you sort of dread the idea of running into him at the little cafe you sometimes indulge in when you’ve got a little extra cash on hand. Something in you wanted to be protective of your favorite spots in town, but you knew it was irrational. Soon enough he would be just as familiar to the folks around here as you were. 

Without fail, he continued to come into Mo’s with large bills. He’d ask you for his cigarettes, tip you far too much, and leave before you could really say anything about it. He never spoke to you more than you spoke to him and he was never anything other than perfectly polite. You hadn’t begun to have a single idea as to why he insisted on tipping so much. 

Eventually, you had come to terms with his insistence on leaving all of his excess cash with you. You started squirreling some of it away, using it specifically on groceries and smaller bills. It was nice to have a little extra padding in your wallet, especially during these cold months. You definitely weren’t touching the thermostat though, that’s for sure. Old habits, and all that. It was easiest to be thankful, to not look this gift horse in the mouth, and to do your best to just keep pushing through the winter. 

–

A winter storm was forecast for your town. The weatherman you’d grown up watching warned this would be one of the worst in years, and to stock up on the essentials. You knew you had about a month’s worth of cat food and a few cans of something or other in the back of your cupboards and called it good before heading to work that day. Calling out wasn’t really a thing Mo liked you to do. It didn’t help that you’d woken early today, sweating through your layers of blankets and somehow still chilled to the bone. 

Getting ready for your shift had taken about twice the time. You’d taken a cold shower, teeth chattering and your stomach turning the entire time. You did not look in the mirror while brushing your teeth and getting dressed. It had to be bad, the way folks looked at you when you arrived. You were bundled up in a hoodie and an oversized flannel. There was something about being ill that just made the cold weather feel so much worse. The black K-95 mask you’re wearing isn’t doing much to hide the puffiness or dark circles under your eyes. The near-constant sniffling and perspiration aren’t doing you any favors. 

Between the little rushes of your shift, you unabashedly sit on the floor behind the counter, not caring if Mo saw you on the cameras and wanted to give you a pissy little talk about it later. You hadn’t had any medicine to take at home and all the store carried were caffeine pills and Tylenol for eight dollars per two-pack. You do your best to stay hydrated, refilling a small styrofoam cup from the soda machines often. The water tastes vaguely like Hi-C Punch, and you try to not think about it. When you’re able to focus on your own hands, you see them shaking as they bring the cup to your lips. 

You think it’s around one in the morning when you hear the door chime. Close to the start of Oliver’s shift, the end of yours. No one has been in the store since around eight, you think. Time has stopped feeling real at this point. Breathing heavily, you muster the strength to stand. You lean heavily over the counter, trying to wet your mouth against the sudden nausea crawling up your throat. Under your layers, you’re sweating and chilled and just so uncomfortable. Whoever’s just entered the store stomps the snow off of their boots, and you can hear their steps squeak on the linoleum straight to your counter. A quick glance up and you’re making eye contact with the masked man who has become strangely familiar to you. 

You can only manage a nod to acknowledge him, before turning around to grab his cigarettes. He’d been in the night before, so you weren’t expecting him tonight. Normally his packs last him a few days. Why would he come out so late, especially during this bad weather? You can’t really bring yourself to think too critically right now, instead choosing to focus on not passing out before you can clock out and go home. When you turn around, pack of menthols in hand, you find that the man is eyeing you more intently than normal. You think? The mask made it hard to tell. Your hands are shaking, you realize it just as the cigarettes slip from your fingers. 

“Fuck, ‘m sorry-” You bend to pick them up and are met with a rush of blood in your ears. When you rise you lean against the counter for a moment, eyes closed. It would later come back to you as an embarrassing moment, but currently, you’re focusing very hard on staying upright. 

“You're sick,” the man says, so plainly it's kind of funny. You huff a small laugh, nodding. 

“Why’re you here? Storm’s gonna get bad tonight.” It’s a poor attempt at deflecting the obvious statement. Something bristled in you at him, it was enough that he’d seen you at the grocery store. Being seen by him like this now, especially after all the cash tips he’s been leaving you, makes you feel cagey and defensive.

“I could ask you the same.” He slides you a twenty as he says this. You meet his eyes, briefly. It’s easier to look at him with half of your face covered, you realize. Maybe that’s why he’s never been seen around town without his balaclava. He meets your gaze evenly, seemingly unaware of the shame that pulses under your skin. You sniffle loudly, not looking down at the bill on the counter. You’ve got about a dozen questions for him, but your jaw is clenched so tightly you’re not sure where to even begin. Just when you’ve worked up the nerve to fire a question at the man, the door chimes. 

Both of you turn to see Olivier entering the shop. They wave one mittened hand at you. “Oh hey! You’re here too, Simon. Nice to see you again.” Simon? Somehow Olivier had failed to mention his name after all this time. Admittedly, you’d never even thought to ask. He’d never introduced himself formally, and you weren’t one to pry, especially into the lives of odd men who only buy their cigarettes after sundown. Simon raises a hand to greet Olivier, the most human thing you’ve seen him do so far. 

“Hey Liv,” you croak, clearing your throat a little. At the sound of your wrecked voice, Olivier grimaces at you. Already, they’re reading into their tote back and donning a mask. 

“Stay over there, and disinfect the counter when you leave!” They harp, only half joking. You nod wearily and quickly check Simon’s cigarettes out on the register. It feels strange to even think of him using his first name. Simon takes his leave, and as soon as you've got your coat on you’re following right behind him, waving a quick goodbye to Olivier as you go. They’re immunocompromised, and the last thing you want is to make their life harder by getting them sick.

The snow falls heavily, immediately sticking to your eyelashes and blinding you. You drag your gloved hands over your eyes, trying to clear them. Blinking rapidly, you see that the parking lot is a smooth expanse of honeyed yellow. The street lamp makes the area look warmer than it is. You can already feel the cold sinking into your fingertips. The trees on the edges of the lot are bowed heavily under the snow’s weight. When you step into the lot, the snow is powdery soft, but icey beneath. Not good. It would be a very slow drive home once you got your truck moving. The snow is only about halfway up the tires, but you’d still need to shovel it out to give it a fighting chance of leaving the lot if you could get it started in this cold. 

When you get it started. 

Historically, your beloved fossil of a truck has not done well in the cold. You’d been meaning to replace the battery and get the transmission checked out this Summer. You had forgotten. 

The sound of snow crunching behind you tells you that Simon has not left the lot, and is apparently watching you have your silent meltdown now. Great. “You want some help getting that snow shoveled?” It’s strange hearing him outside of the contained environment that is Mo’s. The wind changes his voice. It’s odd to be shoulder to shoulder with him, and not talk about cigarettes. Dejected, you know when to choose your battles. You nod your head and lead him to the driver's side door of the truck. 

“I might need a jump, it really doesn’t do well in this weather,” you admit wearily. Simon nods like he knows that already. Maybe he did, it’s not exactly the nicest-looking vehicle anyone’s ever seen. You crank the door open and hop in the seat. When turning the engine over multiple times does nothing but pitifully crank the engine, you lean your forehead against the steering wheel in defeat. Before you can say anything you can't fight the urge to suddenly cough. You turn away from Simon, who's kind of hovering near the open door of your truck, to bury your mouth in your elbow to cough. You've honestly had enough of being gross and embarrassed in front of this guy for one night. When your coughing fit is done you lean back, exhausted, against the seat. Your throat is raw, and your entire body feels weak. The thought of shoveling out your truck and waiting on the battery to charge fills you with dread. “Fuck this, man.” 

Snow has started sticking to Simon's coat, dusting white onto the black fabric. He's standing a small distance away with his hands in his pockets, giving you a decent amount of space. “You want a ride home? Can come deal with it in the morning with you, if you like.” You turn your head to regard him, thankful again for your mask to hide behind. There's plenty of security footage of him coming into the store over and over again. You supposed if he wanted to kill you there would be at least a half-decent physical description. Plus Olivier probably knew more about him, given that they're a chatterbox no matter the time of day. 

Your eyes flick out to the lot. The snow shows no sign of stopping. Fuck it. 

“My house isn't far from here.”

[toxicanonymity]

Dear Toxi, I wrote yet another letter using Resistbot to once again ask my representatives (and evil governor) about the SAVE act & inquiring about Palestine. Ever since the ceasefire ended I feel like I've seen almost no one talking about it. We must keep pressing our representatives and leaders about this.

Anyways, I'm at the beach today and it got me thinking. Would the Miller brothers (either in Leopard Print or the series you wrote) ever take out dear reader to the beach? Or a lake? Perhaps they would dick her down in a changing room or behind a sand dune. Idk, food for thought 🤔

SAVE Act | 5calls | resistbot | Update - ask senators to vote no on cloture AND bill. TYSM bestie, your activism is appreciated 🖤 leopard print au

cheetah print... pt. 1 of 2 (pt. 2 here)

Joel Miller x f!reader, 3k words | joel masterlist

He pulled you back against the heft in his swim trunks. You were met with a subtle thrust that sent daggers of need up your spine. He touched you like you were together, like you belonged to him. Not like you'd met one time and fucked behind a gas station.

SUMMARY: No-outbreak. Tommy hears you're going to the beach. Joel finds you there and gets you into his beach tent. WARNINGS: 18+ semi-public PinV, dirty talk, dry humping, groping in public, thigh fucking, degradation, cream pie, breeding kink, ass slapping, daddy kink, pet names

If you hadn't been seated in your car, your knees would've buckled under you. You'd seen a few big, dark trucks since the encounter, bringing your chest to a simmer each time, but the back of this one read Miller Bros. When a mustached man in shades reached out the driver's side window to adjust the mirror, your breath hitched, and you didn't exhale until he rolled away. Jesus Christ.

A minute later, it approached from the back and rolled to a stop parallel with you. A pit opened in your chest. Of all the days to be wearing another animal print bikini….

“How ya doin', sugar? It’s me. Tommy." When you didn't manage any words, he added, “The Seat. Remember?” he gestured to the empty passenger seat where you last met.

“Yeah,” you nodded with a forced smile, face burning. “Hey.”

He took off his shades and asked, “Wanna go for a ride?”

“No, I'm uh… I'm on my way to meet a friend.”

“Yeah? Where y'all goin’?”

“The beach.”

“See ya there.”

When he drove off again, he didn't circle back.

—------

At the beach, for the rest of the day, your eyes darted around not finding him. To get out of the sun, you left your stuff on the beach and put on a light, airy swimsuit cover-up, leaving it open in the front. You got in line at the popsicle stand. You were wet and tingling from thinking about what could happen. What did happen - it was so degrading to everyone involved, so depraved, so devilish. You couldn't think about it without squeezing your thighs together.

You closed your eyes for a moment, wincing at your aching need, when someone stepped into your space from behind.

“Need somethin’ to suck on?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the voice, deep and smooth, not two inches from your ear. Your cover-up shifted as he reached around you. He lightly pinched the border of the open garment and ghosted his fingers down it. You opened your eyes and turned your head just a bit.

Joel brought his lips to your ear. “I got somethin to suck on… or somethin’ to fuck you raw.”

His fingers brushed your bare waist and he said, “ooh, you're hot….even hotter than I remembered”

He laid his palm against your skin and let it wander. He felt your side, your belly, your chest, then cupped your breast, making your lips part as your nipple hardened through the thin fabric and the person in front of you stepped forward in line. You followed suit. He stepped forward, even closer than before, placed his palm on your lower abdomen and pulled you back against him, right against the heft in his swim trunks. You were met with a subtle thrust of his hips that sent daggers of need from your tailbone up your spine.

He touched you like you were together, like you belonged to him. Not like you'd met one time behind a gas station.

When it was your turn in line, you expected Joel to back off, but he did the opposite. He dipped his four fingers into the front of your swimsuit bottoms leaving his thumb on the outside. His middle finger wiggled ever so slightly on your clit.

The Popsicle salesman turned bright red before quickly averting his eyes.

“What flavor did you want?” He asked, looking down into the freezer rather than at you.

Joel dipped his hand lower in your suit, and his thumb took your swimsuit down with his hand as his middle finger reached your slick and he growled. “Giver somethin’ creamy,” he answered for you.

A force field around you was vibrating against the reality of the moment, letting you exist there like a dream. The popsicle guy cleared his throat.

You handed the cash to the guy. Joel only took his hand out of your swimsuit to take the pop from him, shiny fingers and all.

-

Joel put his arm around you, guiding you toward a wall. Then he unwrapped the creamy pop and took a long slurp of it as you leaned with your back against the wall. He braced his arm on the wall above you and laid his hardness against you. Your hand twitched with the urge to shove it down his shorts, to take him right there against the wall. He brought the pop to your lips, and watched your lips accept it as he pushed more of it in. “Yeahhh,” he whispered, and his hips pushed forward as the rest of the pop slid into your mouth. “Good girl.” His eyes flickered up from your spread lips to your eyes, and half his mouth twitched into a smirk at your lustful gaze. He fed you the pop, controlling the pace, grinding against you at the same pace. “You feel that?” he asked.

“Mmm,” you hummed into the popsicle,

“How long til it’s inside you, huh?”

“Mm,” you looked at him.

“How long til you're packed with this big cock?

Five minutes?” he asked with a slow rut against your front in rhythm with the popsicle pushing back into your mouth. “Three?”

“Mmm,” your eyes closed with the next stroke of his hard cock. “Ohh,” your mouth opened slightly.

“Ohhh, that sounds more like sixty seconds,” Joel teased and removed the pop from your mouth, bringing it to his own for a long, sensual slurp. “See,I was thinkin’ I might take my time, but…”

Your phone rang, pulling you out of the moment. It was your friend down on the beach. “I gotta grab some sunscreen while I’m up here,” you told Joel.

“Nah, I got plenty,” he said. “I'll put it on ya, too.’

After texting your friend that you’d be back a little later, you and Joel headed down to the beach.  “I saw your brother earlier,” you said. 

“He behave himself?” Joel asked. 

“Uh… yeah.” 

“Yeah, he knows better than to fuck my girl without me.”  Joel gave you ass a little pop, then grabbed and jiggled it. 

“Your girl, huh?” 

“What, you like Tommy? He can put his dick in you, if ya want…” Joel looked at you as though curious about your reaction. “But when it’s time to fill ya up, that’s all me, baby.” 

“You’re bad,” you said. 

“Oh baby, you’ll find out. C’mon, there’s some privacy in the tent. 

—----------------

In the tent, Joel rolled the back of it down, so the only opening was facing  toward the water.  People could walk by, but they'd have to turn their head and look. At least that's what you told yourself. Didn't take much convincing. 

He picked up some sunscreen and set it next to him as he got behind you. His lips brushed the nape of your neck. 

“Been thinking ‘bout this,” he admitted. His nose brushed your hair as his hands roved your body and you melted into his touch. “Wishin’ you were workin’... wishin’ I had your number… “ At the same time: a squeeze of your breast, a cup of your mound. “be your number one customer, baby.” He worked both hands, big and gentle, dragged his lips down the shell your ear, then sucked the lobe. Could he feel it was on fire? Fuck, to think about y’alls first time… The way he thought you were for sale. How offended you were, and turned on…. 

“Such a good girl, lettin’ me fuck you in a goddamn parkin lot,” he murmured, dragging his lips against your skin. He pulled you close, so you could feel the shape of his cock even stiffer than moments ago.  “Lettin’ me fuck you full’a my load…” He rutted against you, making you drip. “Comin’ on a stranger’s cock while he fucks a baby in ya…. Fuck, Nothin hotter.”  Your insides were hot, swollen, yearning to be filled.  

“Thought maybe one day I’d see ya with a pretty dress and a baby bump.” A voracious need ignited in your core. “Oh, fuck,” he breathed, his cock thick and rock hard, digging against the upper flesh of your butt, making you gush and buzz. 

Knocked up behind a gas station? So deranged, so arousing…

“Just as happy to see ya like this…. like a gift I’m boutta unwrap.” 

He tugged at your halter string, and it fell loose.

A glob of sunscreen squirted into his massive palm, he tossed the bottle aside, and rubbed his hands together. 

Wrapping his arms around to your front, he started with your chest. “Most sensitive skin's right here,” he said, sliding his fingers up your sternum to your neck.  He paused with his hand around your neck. “How’s that feel?” His thumb added light pressure.

“Good,” you said. He rubbed the lotion into your chest, between your breasts, then directly on them, with your halter dangling below his big masculine hands as they cupped your breasts. “Gotta get the whole body, cause if your swimsuit moves….” 

He continued the sensual breast massage, and you audibly sighed.

“That feel good?” he asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Get you all tingly. Get you all wet?” he asked. 

“Mmm,” you replied. “I was already wet.” 

“Already wet for me,” he murmured. “....Cause ya let me feel ya up at the goddamn popsicle stand,” he said with an edge, bringing a flash of heat to your face. “Poor baby, must be dyin’ for it."

“I could take care of that for ya,” he offered, massaging your breasts and then moving lower to your stomach. He stopped short of your bikini bottom. “Only one problem, he said. Now I got lotion on my hands.” His hands slithered over your body, feeling every curve. “Don’t wanna make ya burn or nothin’,” he mumbled. “So how’m I gonna get ya off?” He spread his knees,straddling your legs wider, finding a lower angle. Then hee grinded his hard dick against you, prodding at your lower crack. “Hm?” 

He pulled one the string of your bikini bottom, then the other. “You want me to take care of this, don't ya?” He asked, pulling the loose swimsuit from between your legs, holding it up to see how wet it was.

“Mmmm,” he observed. 

His hands left your body only to pull down his swim trunks, making his warm, smooth shaft spring against the bare skin of your ass cheek. He took his shorts fully off, then resumed his position. 

Without using his hands, he thrusted against your backside. He held your waist and you tilted your hips for him. “Good girl,” With the angle just right, his cock slid right between your thighs, with no help from his hands. . “Unggh—There we go,” he said. He moved his hips nice and slow, pushing his cock through the snug tunnel of your thighs and dripping pussy. His girth pushed your folds out of the way, and the fat head of his cock nudged your clit. You kept your thighs squeezed together, nearly breathless from the perfect pressure of his dick against your naked heat. Your head tilted up, eyes closing in pleasure. He massaged  hips and your thighs while rutting against your dripping heat. 

It was more than enough to get you off. You tensed your abdomen, very aware of the swell of arousal deep in your gut, threatening to burst into the stratosphere. You squeezed your thighs together tighter, making him moan out loud.

He rubbed the lotion into your hips and sides, and when his hands were no longer wet, he brought them back to your breasts, lightly cupping them with each nipple between two fingers on each breast. He began to thrust in faster, smaller motions, grunting, sighing. 

Fuck, he felt good, and you were close, so close, your body tensed. 

“Breathe, baby,” he said. “Let it happen—Mmm.”

You obeyed with the next nudge of his tip against your clit making it pound with pleasure.

“Fuck, I feel it,” he said. The pressure pounded and released, and as it faded, you could only think, that better not be the only one I get. 

Badly needing him inside you, you leaned forward, getting on your hands hands and knees and tilting your hips.  

Joel let out a low whistle, and began to fuck your thighs again. 

The lack of penetration was driving you crazy. 

“Fuck me,” you demanded. 

“Do I even know your name, babygirl?” His stiff cock must have been aching, still sliding through your folds. “Just want me to fuck you raw, huh?” 

“Put it in me,” you agreed. 

“Ow,” he reacted. “Well, god damn… a woman who knows what she wants.” 

“Give it to me,” you pleaded.

“Where ya want it?” he asked. 

“In my pussy, god.” He had you dying for it. 

He slid his cock through your folds, one last time. “Ohhh I feel her twitchin’ for me, baby.” 

You tilted your hips and the head caught at your entrance. “Yeah,” he whispered, then began to push. You pushed back on him, then forward just a bit, to keep the skin from catching. Then the rest of his cock slid through your soft walls, pushing a moan out of you with his girth. 

“Fuck,” you breathed as he bottomed out with a grunt. 

“Forgot you were tight,” he muttered, stiff and throbbing. He placed a hand on your lower back as he withdrew a few inches, then slammed back in.  “Oh, fuck yeah, you're real tight,” he said as he fucked you.  You moaned with each thrust, each throb, each grunt, each rumble from his chest. 

“Ain’t got fucked right in a while, huh?... Well, daddy's here,” he reassured you, making you spasm on his cock. 

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “You like that…. Oh, fuck. Take it good for daddy,” he gushed as he fucked you. Your ass pushed back on him in perfect rhythm. “God damn, this ass,” he said, grabbing a handful, then giving it a pop. “Uggh,” he groaned, burying his cock in you, watching your cunt swallow it right up.  He spat on your asshole and pressed gently on it with his thumb, spreading the spit around, then adding more. 

“You like it here, too?” he asked. 

Sure, you’d like it goddamn everywhere from this freak. But there was only one thing on your mind. “Stay where you are,” you demanded. 

“Damn, just gettin’ to know ya’s all,” he said. “No way I’m leavin’ this pussy empty. You know that, baby……Fuck, she takes it real good.” 

He slammed into you with a growl.

The rhythm was a perfect overlay with the waves outside. The lap of skin and the wind against the tent. The heavy breaths and growls and moans. 

Jesus Christ, you've had his cock buried in you for minutes and it seemed to only get bigger… a mind-numbing fullness, making your eyes glaze over. 

“Fuck, you're big,” you breathed, feeling him in your guts. 

“Yeah, you need a big cock, don’t ya?” He said, he slammed to the hilt and grinded his hips, letting you feel just how deep he could. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whined. 

“Need a real big cock to fuck this pussy right.” 

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Yeah, daddy. Oh, fuck me.” 

“Fuck yeah,” he breathed, grinding deep again. “Oh, fuck.” 

You pushed back on him, making him “Mmmmmmm–oh, baby,” before catching another rhythm. 

He asked, “Member our deal? Free if I come inside….” 

“Come in me,” you said. 

“You, uh,” he started to ask a question, then muttered, “fuck it, I don't wanna know.” 

His cock twitched. He fucked you harder. He gripped your hips and sped up to a punishing pace, one that took skill. “Fuck,” he panted. “You ready for it?....You ready?” his question broken by the effort of his hips. 

The pleasure overwhelmed your body. You thought you might pass out. 

“You gonna come on this cock, baby”  he asked and slowed down when you simply moaned in response. 

“Fuck, you're hot,” he breathed. “Nothin’ like a hot slut at the beach.” And he smacked your ass. “Fuck,” he said, “you dunno what I’d pay for this pussy.”  He sped up again. 

“You oughtta try it,” he panted, “Make bank with this pussy.”  

All you could do was moan in response. 

“Fuck yeah,” he said. 

“Don't stop,” you begged, so close…

“Not ‘til you're full,” He reassured you. “Not til my swimmers are all up in your guts.” He slammed into you, grinded his hips again, “pourin’ outta ya.” The friction sent you tumbling over the edge. 

You groaned as you came, and he slowed, nearly to a halt. “Fuck, yeah.”

You hardly noticed the shadow outside the tent as you choked him.

“Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me good, baby,” he breathed, and fucked you through it slowly.  And then he bottomed out deep, and pulsed. “Ohhh” he groaned, spilling his seed inside you.

A voice came from outside the tent, then Tommy appeared in the open side. “Ten’s a rockin’, and I ain’t knockin’....”

“I’m a-knockin’ her up,” Joel said, fully seated in your cunt. 

“Well look at her all fucked out,” Tommy smiled with admiration.  He gently touched your dissheveled hair, then thumbed your lip. “She’s a beaut.” 

“I miss all the fun?” Tommy asked. 

“Hell no,” Joel said. “Just helpin’ with her sunscreen. Ain't even got the back yet.”

“Is that right, Tommy asked, then wet his lips, looking at your tits. He unscrewed a bottle of water and got on his knees and tilted it to your lips. You lapped some as it trickled out of the bottle. 

Joel’s hands were steady on your ass and he pulled his hips back just a bit for one last thrust and sigh. 

“Fuck. She's good. She's so tight, man.” Joel said. “I mean, wrecked right now, but--- You need a break, baby? Whatcha wanna do?” 

-

-

-

-

Thank you for reading and tysm for supporting Blorbos for democracy fics. If someone calls their senators, we're headed for DP 🤟

[stargirlo]

whatever she wants ♡.

your boyfie luvs spoiling you with his money! and he doesn't care if he maxes out his credit card just by spending money on the stuff that you want to buy. he just wants to see his pretty girl happy, that's all. his love language is gift giving, so why not show his love to you by showering you with designer bags and red bottoms?

you're always whining about how he shouldn't give you this many stuff, even if it wasn't a special occasion. but he insists, who is going to stop him?

need your nails done? check, appointment is already made. you're craving oysters? the reservation is booked. want to be on the highest floor of a five-star hotel in singapore? prepare for the breathtaking view baby. your birkin bag is getting old? the order is at your doorstep. need a new tiffany and co bracelet? get in the car and lets buy you a new one.

honestly he knows every clothing brand that you like because he has a list of your wants and needs. whenever you say something like "this sundress is cute." or "these tory burch sandals would go with this, yeah?" he would instantly take note of it and buy it for you the next day. this man is tiring, but you absolutely adore him. not because of his money, but because of the way he treats you.

he treats you with full on royalty, as if you were his queen, in which, you already are. so, you can't help but give him your thanks to him for doing all these things.

"f-fuck baby, is this your thanks f'me..?" he dryly chuckles, slenders fingers slipping through your well styled hair, to which it was ruined by how tight he's gripping your fucking scalp. ouchie.

you nodded eagerly, sucking him off like your life depended on it. moans vibrated against his cock, letting his body jolt in absolute pleasure. he threw his head back, letting you have your way on his cock as it snuggles deep down your warm and tight throat. he can't help but buck his hips upwards into your throat, a stifled moan bubbling through his gritted teeth. a sweat rolls down his forehead, eyebrows knit together as he looks down at the gorgeous view of you being between his legs and sucking his cock to oblivion.

"ye'r such a slut y'know t-that . . . shit-" he hissed in pleasure, inhaling sharply before letting out a groan. your thighs rubbed together, trying to reach out for some friction for yourself while you gave your precious boyfriend a blow job. he lets out a string of curses and praises, murmuring something about how he's going to ruin your pussy after this, and it only turned you on further, feeling a wet patch on your victoria secret thong.

suddenly, you withdrew from his cock, watching a thin string of spit connect from his cock and to your glossy lips. you looked up at him teary-eyed, your plump lips turning into a small "o" shape as you let out shallow breaths. "what's wrong baby? dick t'much to take down ye'r throat?" he mocks, looking down at you with a sneer. how mean.

" 's okay sugar, daddy's gotcha . . . now c'mere," he pants, his pointer and ring finger beckoning you to crawl up his lap, and so you did. as you got yourself situated and comfortable on his lap, his cock occasionally rubbing against your soaked panties that was desperate to be fucked like a useless glory hole. his hands move under your skirt, pulling down the thong away as it revealed your hungry pussy to his eyes. it was glistening with your slick, and he was definitely going to have a field day with this slip 'n slide.

"you're so wet f'me, and all jus' by suckin' my dick." he chuckles, gripping your hips firmly and lifting it up with a subtle movement, just enough to feel the tip of his cock rubbing against your puffy 'n needy clit. you let out a short gasp, taking a hold on his shoulders as you looked down at the lewd scenery below you. "aht, aht sugar . . . look at me," he gently slaps your ass, bringing back your attention to him and looking at him directly. he murmurs a low "thereee we go." before sliding you down his cock, a high-pitched yelp eliciting from your lips.

his cock slides in further, deeper and deeper until you feel his cock fill you up to the hilt. you're now basically cockdrunk, and he hasn't done anything to make you be in this position yet. you babbled how he's "too big" and that "you're full" but he could only watch in awe. "shh, shh, look how soaked your pussy is . . . look at how easy it just slides in, aand out." he huffs, moving your hips with ease as the base of his cock slips in and out of your pussy, erupting a lewd squelch.

"now c'mon baby, show me how really thankful you are f'me . . ." his hands now let go of your hips, making you fully sit down on his cock as your pussy warms it up. your lips tug a small pout, his hands being placed behind his head as he raised a brow. his expression already spoke volumes on what he was going to say, so you tried your best to lift up your shaky hips and thighs as you worked your way into riding his cock.

let's just say he had to do most of the work later on :(

💌: gojo satoru, geto suguru, hiromi higuruma, chuuya nakahara, haitani brothers, sanzu haruchiyo, manjiro sano, shuji hanma, wakasa imaushi, rafe cameron, ++ your favs!!

[anakinstwinklebunny]

SUGARDADDY!ANAKIN HEADCANONS

TW: at some point it contains extremely filthy sexual content, so if you're sensitive to that or don't feel comfortable with it, please do not read it for your own safety and comfort. Daddy kink, breast play, praise kink, reader is younger than anakin but she's also off the age! (which means i won't give her specific age, but she's definitely NOT a minor). Lightly relationship with benefits (at first)

Author's note: and he happened to be the rich CEO 🤭

Sugardaddy!Anakin who is at the restaurant for a high-stakes business meeting with some important clients. He’s there to close a deal, his mind fully focused on the negotiations, but the moment he spots you, his attention falters. You’re the one serving his table, and despite the chaos of the busy restaurant, he can’t take his eyes off you. Your charm, your smile, the way you carry yourself—it’s all incredibly enticing to him. He’s captivated by the way you interact with customers, maintaining grace under pressure. After the meeting, Anakin leaves an exorbitant tip, much larger than necessary. Along with it, there’s a business card with just his name and number, a subtle but unmistakable invitation for you to contact him.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, after you muster the courage to text him, he invites you out for coffee, a subtle test to see if you’re interested. He’s direct but not pushy when he suggests an arrangement—offering financial support in exchange for your company. At first it surprises you, since it's uncommon for you to gain interest from older men..but, he was polite, very polite (you couldn't help but compare him to guys your age). Seemed like a true gentleman with specific needs you were suggested to fullfil

Sugardaddy!Anakin who makes it clear that he’s not interested in just a transactional relationship. He wants to spoil you, yes, but he also craves your genuine presence, your wit, and your warmth.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who made you sign NDA before any further actions. And after that, the first few dates involved extravagant dinners at the most exclusive restaurants, shopping trips where he insists you pick out anything you like, and even trips to luxurious resorts. He loves seeing you adorned in the finest things that his wealth can buy.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, despite his powerful position, Anakin values privacy and keeps your relationship under wraps. He’s protective of you, not wanting the media or his corporate world to interfere.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who often sends his private driver to pick you up, whether it’s for a date or just to bring you to his penthouse after a long day. He makes sure you’re always comfortable and safe.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who has a soft spot for you that his colleagues would be shocked to see. He’s attentive to your needs, whether it’s something simple like remembering your favorite coffee order or something more intimate, like understanding when you need space or affection.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who is fiercely protective

Sugardaddy!Anakin who takes a genuine interest in your ambitions and goals. Whether you’re in school, pursuing a career, or exploring new hobbies, he’s there to support you—financially and emotionally. He offers advice, mentorship, and even opportunities within his vast business empire.

What starts as a sugar daddy arrangement quickly grows into something deeper. Anakin finds himself genuinely falling for you. The way you challenge him, care for him, and bring a sense of normalcy to his chaotic life makes you more than just a 'sugar baby'

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, the stoic CEO, surprises himself with how open he becomes with you. He shares his fears, his past, and his hopes for the future. You’re the only one who gets to see the man behind the powerful exterior.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who doesn't mind age gap although, when you're sometimes showing him something he has no idea what it is (like social media and stuff). So he's kind of a boomer..just a tiny bit..

Sugardaddy!Anakin who takes you on spontaneous trips to the most exotic destinations. Private jets, luxury yachts, and five-star hotels are the norm. He loves the idea of you experiencing the best life has to offer, especially when you’re together

Sugardaddy!Anakin who often works late into the night, but he makes time to talk to you before bed (sometimes it'd be a call but sometimes it'd be a small talk face-to-face);

He sighed as the door clicked shut behind him, the exhaustion of the day slipping through him as he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. Despite the fatigue, the thought of coming home to you brought a sense of peace. “How’s my favorite girl doing?” he asked softly, tilting your chin up after walking into the living room.

“I’m alright… just dying to get some sleep,” you murmured with soft voice.

A smile tugged at his lips as he took you in—curled up on the couch, wearing one of his oversized shirts that nearly swallowed you whole. The sight was enough to erase any lingering stress. “Poor girl,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Sorry I’m so late.”

“S’okay…” your eyes heavy with sleep.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, his arms slipping around your waist to lift you effortlessly. With your legs wrapped around his waist, your face snuggled to his shoulder z he couldn’t help but notice how precious and absolutely beautiful you looked, wrapped in his shirt, with no make-up on. It was a simple moment yet with you in his arms, nothing else mattered.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who is attentive and loves to make you feel special in every way. He’s dominant yet caring (so it makes him a soft dom), always ensuring your needs are met. So the intimacy between you two is intense;

you'd had sex almost daily over the last two months but you, nor him, would never initiated it in half-public before. It wasn't something you'd do, you were more of a private person however...the slight possibility that the driver could glance in the mirror and see you sent a strange thrill cursing down your stomach..

Well, you live once..

It wasn't your first time giving Anakin a blowjob, yet, you still couldn't fully get used to how big he was. How thick and long.

With your watery eyes, you whimpered, tasting the salty sweetness of him before swirling your tongue around his head. Slowly, softly at first, as if checking the territory, them you did it with more confidence, falling into the rhythm of just sucking, licking and bobbing till you were soaked

It shouldn't turn you on like it did. But yet, the feeling of his member filling your mouth, his large hand sank in your hair, his soft groans and whimpers made you twist yourself in pleasure.

Your eyes watery, your underwear wet, your nipples hard and this sensitive skin that burned with never ending fire for this man made you completely forgot how you got here, where you are or even where you're supposed to go

"That's right baby..take every inch like a good girl.." the words slipped through his lightly opened mouth in a moan

He grips your ass cheeks tightly, spreading them apart to get a better angle as he thrusts into you from behind. "Look at this ass, baby...so fucking perfect... gonna fucking own this ass..." He growls, his hands moving to slap your right cheek hard.

You were a mess; holding for dear life to the kitchen counter with nothing but moans leaving your mouth. Not even your eyes could stay open anymore, as they rolled or closed automatically in the feeling

He hisses through his teeth as he feels your squishy walls clench around him, gripping him tightly "That's it, baby...take it all...You're being such a good girl..." h his hands moved to grip your hips tightly as he continues to thrust with more intensity, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the kitchen.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who loves having you ride him;

His fingers dug into your hips, encouraging you to set a faster pace as his own hips lifted to meet yours, the two of you falling into a rhythm. "just like that, baby...you look so good on top of me"

"yeah?" You whimper out, feeling like going crazy with his member deep inside you

His hands slide up your waist to your breasts, cupping them gently as he praises you. "Definitely..riding me like a real cowgirl.."

your mouth opened to let a moan escape your lips and, to feel more, you sped up a little bit

He grins wickedly up at you, his hips bucking upwards to meet yours while he toys with your peaks "You like that, baby? Like daddy playing with your pretty little toys?"

"love it" your mouth lightly opened in pleasure

"Good girl...gosh..could stay buried inside of you forever." Anakin lets out a groan, his eyes rolling back as the feeling of you sinking down onto him once more and it suddenly gets too much to bear. "Fuck, baby...you feel so good...such an eager girl to please me..keep that pace, baby...want to watch you fall apart on top of me"

Sugardaddy!Anakin who loves when you visit him at the office, especially after hours when most of his employees went home

Sugardaddy!Anakin who even if makes love to you a bit roughly sometimes, he can for sure be very gentle;

He slowly enters you, his touch gentle as he cups your face tenderly. "gonna go nice and slow, alright?" He whispers softly, his hips moving in a gentle rhythm. "if you wanna stop just say the word.."

"okay" you whimper

He enters you inch by inch, his touch gentle as he kisses you passionately. "You're so tight, baby...feels so good..." his pace slow and gentle. He leans down and kisses you slowly as if you were a ceramic doll he was scared to break "my beautiful girl.. doing so good for me"

your warmth enveloped his senses and it only made him more crazy for you. You just seemed so perfect to him. Even your flaws were something he deeply cherished, found captivating, irresistible

"you okay, baby?" He whispers softly, his voice laced with autonomical concern. "wanna go slower?"

"yes, please" you whisper-moan

He slows down even more, his movements almost imperceptible as he carefully makes love to you. "there we go...so slow and gentle...just for you, baby..." He leans down to kiss your neck softly, his breath warm against your skin. "love you so much, you know? Gosh, could do anything for you.. you have me wrapped around your finger.."

Sugardaddy!Anakin who has a particular obsession with lingerie. He frequently buys you the most luxurious pieces—silk, lace, and satin—in colors he knows you look stunning in. Seeing you dressed up in something he chose just for you ignites a fire in him, and he loves taking his time to remove each piece, savoring the reveal of your body

Sugardaddy!Anakin who has a possessive streak, and it shows in how he wants to leave marks on you—not just hickeys, but subtle reminders that you belong to him. He’ll trace his fingers over the marks later, a satisfied smirk on his face as he sees the evidence of your passion..but stil..;

He was laying on his side with his arm wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close as if you might slip away in the night. You were slowly drifting off to sleep, in comparison to anakin, whose sleep eluded him. He lay there quietly, his eyes tracing the familiar curves of your body in the darkness, as if rediscovering them for the first time.

His gaze lingered on the spots where his touches had left their mark. Faint hickeys dotted your upper thighs and hips, and a few more adorned your neck and collarbone. He couldn’t help but admire the evidence of his desire for you, the way he’d claimed your body as his own. The possessive satisfaction he felt was undeniable, yet there was also a tender need to ensure that his passion hadn’t caused you any pain.

"Does it hurt?" he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet room.

"No... I'm fine," you murmured half-asleep

"You sure?" His fingers brushed over one of the darker marks, tracing gentle circles on the sensitive skin of your hip.

"Mhm... it's nothing serious"

He hummed in acknowledgment, though the worry still lingered. He couldn't shake the need to make sure you were truly okay. His hand slowly moved up to gently push your hair aside, exposing the smooth skin of your neck and shoulder. Leaning in, he nuzzled his face into the curve of your neck, his lips brushing against the tender spot he had marked earlier. "Sorry," he whispered, his voice a mix of apology and affection

"It's okay, really" you whispered back, your hand finding its way into his messy curls. Your fingers gently stroking through them as if to soothe both him and yourself.

He pressed another soft kiss to your skin, letting his lips linger against it. The warmth of your body, the steady rise and fall of your chest, and the feel of your hand in his hair finally began to ease his mind. Holding you close, he let the lingering guilt fade, quickly replacing it by the comforting knowledge that you were safe and okay

Sugardaddy!Anakin who enjoys the thrill of teasing you in public settings, knowing you have to keep your composure. A subtle hand on your thigh under the dinner table, his fingers tracing dangerously close to your inner thigh, or whispering in your ear about what he plans to do to you later, all heighten the anticipation for when you’re finally alone.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, over time, begins to consider a more permanent relationship with you. He starts dropping hints about you moving in, or even starting a family someday.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who's definitely into some roleplay (but mostly you surprise him with them)

Sugardaddy!Anakin who is open to exploring new things in the bedroom, and he enjoys introducing toys into your sex life. Whether it’s a silk blindfold, a vibrator, or even some light bondage, he knows exactly how to push your boundaries while making you feel safe and loved.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, despite his dominant and sometimes intense nature, Anakin is always attentive to your needs afterward. He makes sure you’re comfortable, bringing you water, wrapping you in soft blankets, and holding you close. His fingers gently stroke your hair as he whispers sweet words, grounding you after an intense session.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who's more of a type of guy to send you flowers when he's out for business trip or etc

Sugardaddy!Anakin who has a habit of giving you jewelry that symbolizes his ownership. A necklace with his initials, a bracelet that matches his watch

Sugardaddy!Anakin who loves playing with your breasts;

"Dirty little thing, aren't you? You just love when daddy plays with your big tits, hmm?" his fingers pinching and rolling your nipples

"Mhm.." you lightly wriggled on his lap, feeling the well known hardness poking between your legs

"And you're mine, aren't you, love? This beautiful girl wouldn't leave me, now would you angel?"

Sugardaddy!Anakin who had an actual conversation with you about taking things more seriously, if you even wanted. And soon later he proposed to you

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @fuckmyskywalker @slutforfinnickodair

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[kettleworth]

Sugar Kisses - A Susie x Ralsei Fanfic

Wrote a cute, fluffy little fic based on a comic by @myvermilioneyes because it's so damn adorable that it makes me feral. Go check them out!

...god damn it. He was being overly humble again. Even in one of their few moments of relaxation and downtime, Ralsei was still putting himself down.

It was subtle this time around. He wasn't so naive that he would keep acting like an overly innocent idiot baby around everyone else. It was obvious that the Prince was more than capable of intense magic, building, leadership (when necessary), and learning from his mistakes, whenever possible. Ralsei could look out for himself.

...but he didn't; that is what pissed Susie off the most.

Ralsei invited Kris and her – as well as Lancer and a few other Darkner pals – to a lighthearted get-together the next time the two Lightners paid Castle Town a visit. At first, the party was fun! The energy was high as many of her pals shared tea, finger sandwiches, and an enormous vanilla-frosted strawberry cake between each other. Of course, Elnina and Lanino spent most of their time making disgustingly sweet kissy-faces and murmuring sweet nothings to each other to really pay attention to everyone else. Susie chose to ignore them, for the most part, for no other reason than it made her want to puke up her tea and food. Envy? What the fuck was that?

At least Lancer was a good enough distraction, as he provided multiple laughs. Not just to Susie, but to the entire table. He bounced around from spot to spot, barely able to keep his butt in his 'designated chair'. This wasn't unexpected of the young Darkner, and Rouxl's attempts at keeping him calm only made matters more chaotic. It didn't help that he never sat in a seat, either.

'Can this guy even use his ass for anything other than standing?' Susie pondered, already polishing off her slice of cake before Ralsei even finished serving everyone their portions. If it were just her, Kris, and Ralsei, she'd already be reaching for seconds. Since this obviously wasn't the case – and because she didn't want to make a scene in front of Nubert – she quickly decided against it, opting to join in on conversation while sipping – okay, slurping – her tea. She was surprised at how sweet it happened to taste, even without her adding anything to her cup. 'Okay... does Ralsei only know how to make sweet stuff?!' She thought, absentmindedly listening in on the current topic. She wasn't complaining, of course.

She shouldn't have been too surprised with Ralsei proving, yet again, that he was a very excellent host, yet the fact that she only saw him take one singular bite of cake in between small, polite sips of tea caused her to forget about literally everything else. After all, the Prince elicited an extremely cute expression of enjoyment as he ate his own culinary creation. Why didn't he eat more of it?!

...what? So she kept track of how much Ralsei ate. So what?

Susie attempted to keep thoughts of the infuriatingly cute Prince out of her mind as she interacted with everyone. Kris was always dozens – if not hundreds – of laughs. They even taught Ralsei a few rude jokes to repeat sometime! Most of which involved the infamous “man from Nantucket”.

“K-kris!” Ralsei gasped at one point, hiding his muzzle with his scarf as everyone else howled with laughter. “H-how crude! I can't say that word!”

“Ho ho ho!” Lancer laughed uproariously, reaching an arm around the flustered goat boy. “Let Daddy Lancer help you, Toothpaste Boy!”

“...Daddy WHO?” Kris repeated suddenly, obviously shocked with the sentence. They began to double over in their chair, barely able to hide back their snickers as they held their stomach. Susie was... less subtle, pounding the table as she let loose immense bursts of laughter. Porcelain clattered and clanked as she did so, though thankfully didn't cause more damage. Aside from spilling her own teacup off the side. Clearly, she was far too amused to even worry about the hot liquid falling near her lap.

“BWAHAHA! YUH-YEAH- AHAHA! C-c'mon, 'Daddy' Lancer, tell us the word we shouldn't say!”

Throughout all of this, Rouxls merely watched with a semi-concerned expression, peering over at Ralsei as they stammered in confusion. “...huh? Uh... I don't think 'Daddy Lancer' should be saying that word, either!”

'Oh god, he doesn't know!' Susie thought, wheezing at this point as she gripped the tablecloth tightly with her left hand. 'FUCK me, Ralsei, you gotta talk to Queen more often!' It was weird to think that Ralsei knew what 'that word' meant, but didn't know the connotation behind 'Daddy'. Selective knowledge, she figured.

“Hey, don't worry!” Lancer continued, clearly enjoying the raucous laughter and attention he was receiving from his friends. “Lesser Dad has given me a whole list of tier four swears I shouldn't repeat! And this one seems like the most fun! Listen!” The young boy stated, clearing his throat before taking an incredibly deep inhale, puffing out his cheeks as he readied himself to scream the word in question.

“...CUN-”

“LANCER!” Rouxls Kaard interjected, suddenly slapping a hand over his mouth. A familiar 'SPLAT!' noise was elicited as he did so, though the tall, blue weirdo merely laughed with an uncomfortable tone. “Erm.... ahahah! Forgeteth everythinge he doth said! He knoweth not what he speaketh of!”

Within a second, however, Lancer retaliated against the lanky 'puzzle master' by chomping his thick, rounded teeth onto Rouxls' finger.

“...CHOMP!”

Rouxls let out a high pitched squeal, immediately letting go of the young boy's face as he ran away in a hyperactive, playful manner.

Naturally, the sight was more than enough to cause the three 'heroes of prophecy' loads of laughter. It was especially hilarious when the 'Duke Of Puzzles' began to chase after him, with an infuriated expression. “AAAAUUUGHH THOU... THOU WRETCHED CHILD!”

Within seconds, the 'Lesser Dad' started to play a one-sided version of 'Ring Around the Rosie' by chasing Lancer around the table. The two Lightners began to laugh at the sight, as did the 'Dark Prince', who was gripping his own teacup while pretending to not be.

“Hehehe! R-rouxls, stop! Y-you're ruining the t-tea party..!” Ralsei giggled heartily. Susie was quick to notice his feet kicking gleefully. Her cheeky smile became more subdued, pretending as if she hadn't noticed.

“I... am ruininge NOTHING!” He insisted, diving for the bouncy, bubbly boy. Obviously, he missed, causing Lancer to run straight out of the room, heading... elsewhere. “Tis be-eth this boye who squandereth our fun times!”

“Guess you'll hafta catch me to prove it, Lesser Dad!” Lancer called out, laughing louder as Rouxls grumbled even louder, chasing the smaller Darkner out of the room.

“AUGH! K-Kris! Dear friende! Mine fellow 'Puzzle Enjoyere!' S-surely thou will h-helpeth me on mine quest to capture thine bouncing baby boye... right?” Rouxls pleaded, already kneeling down and bowing his head as she begged to the human Lightner.

Susie watched as Kris let out a small laugh, wasting no time in standing on their feet, nodding eagerly. Not before grabbing their slice of Ralsei's cake and taking a large, eager bite of it. So large, in fact, that they might as well have finished it in one go. Susie was shocked... yet impressed. She felt as if Ralsei felt the same way, even as they started to follow the goofy, blue Darkner out of the room.

“S-splendid! Followe me, Sir Kris!”

“Ho ho ho!” Lancer's laugh echoed. “Two blues don't make a right, y'know!”

“LANCER! Stop teasingth me!” The so-called 'Duke of Puzzles' whined, being tailed by the human. By this point, many of the others had already left the room, either in playful pursuit of the young Darkner, or – in the case of Elnina and Lanino – 'other reasons'. Seeing the display, however, Susie couldn't help but immediately stand up from her seat, screeching the chair loudly.

“Yo, are we playing games now?!” She asked excitedly, her adrenaline rushing, ready to follow pursuit of the gangly, high-pitched Darkner.

“Oh, games? Please let me join!” Ralsei added in, standing up from his chair. Hearing this, Susie couldn't help but freeze up, watching as the goat stood up, ready to follow Kris. Leaving behind his portion of cake. His uneaten portion.

This is where Susie felt her earlier worries. Her frustrations. Games were fun, and everyone's enjoyment was palatable, but something stopped her. Was it her nerves? Her thoughts? Possibly. Before Ralsei could exit the combined bedroom that happened to belong to her and Kris, she spoke up.

“...Hey,” She started up, her voice a bit too loud for comfort. It was enough to stop Ralsei in his tracks, immediately facing the purple girl with both hands folded politely behind his back.

“...o-oh, sorry, Susie! Did you need something?” He asked happily, bearing a smile that she knew was less than genuine. Not that she'd tell him. She had her own agenda on her mind.

“Ralsei,” She started, her hair barely shadowing her eyes as she reached for his plate. Even up close, she could tell that his one, singular bite was less than satisfying for her wants. “You still didn't finish your cake.”

Without missing a beat, Ralsei closed his eyes, bouncing on his toes as he beamed eagerly – perhaps overly eagerly – to Susie. “It's okay! You can finish it!”

...fuck. FUCK. There he went again. Too humble to accept something. A gift. As usual. Even his own cooking wasn't safe from his selfish selflessness! Her seemingly neutral expression became more serious, boring into the Prince's pink eyes. Her gaze was... overly serious. Enough to throw him off guard. 'Wrong answer, bucko.'

“I ate mine, dumbass,” Susie replied with a steady, monotone voice. She didn't want to scare Ralsei away, after all. Her nerves wouldn't allow her to do so if she wanted to! Swearing came naturally to her, however, and the short, adorable prince didn't seem to react one way or the other.

'Just eat your damn cake already!' She yelled within the confines of her mind, growing more frustrated as Ralsei momentarily covered his muzzle with a sleeved hand. For a moment, Susie felt as if she was about to go feral. She knew this overly accommodating cutie-pie (where did that come from?!) would refuse her advances. Before he even had the chance, her smile became a bit wider. More... unhinged.

“...do you want me to goddamn spoon-feed you or somethin'?” Susie offered, half-joking as she began to sweat and blush. She'd sooner throw herself into a meat grinder than-

“Susie, I-” Ralsei stammered, alerting her attention. For a brief moment, she expected the usual Ralsei excuses.

'Nooo, it's too sweet, you eat it! Noooo, I made that for you and Kris! NOOOOOO, Kris would love eating that slice! Kris this, Kris that, Kris, Kris KRIS!' Susie thought, already starting to bite her lip. She nearly expected to start bleeding. Her hands trembled, ready to stand up and fetch the non-committal human.

That was until the supposed Prince froze up. His ears and cheeks began to flush darkly and deeply, rapidly at that. At first, Susie imagined she did something wrong, seeing Ralsei turn his body away from her tall, muscular frame.

“...Ralsei?” She asked, beginning to grow paranoid. The goat boy only shivered in place, his fingers attempting to grip his own hands tighter.

'...what the hell is he even thinking of right now?' Susie thought, starting to grow worried.

'YES? NO? YES, NO? NO, YES?!?' Ralsei thought to himself, attempting to hide his blushing face from Susie. God, this was such an embarrassing question! Did he need to be spoon-fed? No! Obviously not! He wasn't a moron! He knew how silverware worked!

...yet here was Susie. Tall, strong, intimidating, kind Susie. Asking if he needed to be fed! By HER?!

Ralsei's fantasies filled with the tall, purple girl, who was shoving spoon after spoon of his own cakes. A part of him wondered if she was requesting this because she wanted to make fun of him. To point and laugh and smear frosting on his fluffy fur while trying to make others look at her attempt of 'artistry'.

Most of him however... figured she'd 'do the right thing'. There was only one way to find out..

With his cheeks and ears glowing a deep, glowing pink, he clenched his eyes shut, burying his mouth within his scarf as he turned back around. It was so selfish of a request, and yet... the thought alone brought him joy. He was willing to take the chance. Before Ralsei could even begin to fight against his own want of joy, his mouth reacted faster than his brain, his head nodding violently. It was as if he had a dangerous, venomous bug on his head that he wanted to shake off.

“Yes! Y-yes..! Okay..! S-sure!” He yelped out, his voice pitched higher than was usually expected of the helpful young Prince. Being spoon-fed? Ralsei wouldn't go against this request! Not if someone else wanted to do this. Not if Susie wanted to do it.

Susie stared at him with a wide, shocked expression, apparently not even sure of what to do as she stared at the squirming, blushing goat boy. Even with his eyes shut tight, he knew he had said the wrong thing. Before he could bleat an apology, however, Susie let out a loud, bemused snort. At first, Ralsei thought she'd laugh cruelly at him. She'd deny him. 'WHAT THE FUCK, RALSEI?!' she'd yell, smearing cake into his snout. 'ARE YOU GODDAMN-'

“Okay, okay!” The real Susie laughed, barely able to hide her amusement as she stepped closer to the 'lonely prince'. Her left hand held his saucer of cake, while the right hand held a teeny tiny dessert spoon. The reptilian girl was surprisingly delicate with holding such small silverware. Susie's tone was still humorous, holding disbelief in Ralsei's reaction. “...what the hell is up with you?”

Ralsei chose not to answer, clenching his eyes tight before they teared up with embarrassment. His knees buckled, causing the prince to kneel on both knees before the larger, stronger, muscular girl. It was as if his body was succumbing to her rough tone. '...I feel so stupid and selfish!' Ralsei admitted to himself, beginning to anxiously clench the hem of his robes. 'Please, please just refuse this! Oh, h-how absolutely awful of me! No Lightner should ever bend their knee to-”

“Damn, quit nodding already!” Susie chuckled in disbelief, already kneeling on one knee as she stepped closer to the fluffy Prince of Darkness, readying a spoonful of vanilla-frosted strawberry cake. While clearly flustered, she was also somewhat... worried. “I'll help ya... just don't cry, arright?”

It was at this point that his nostrils took in the delicious scent of his own 'cooking', already feeling his stomach growling. Susie was already starting to push a spoonful of cake towards his mouth.

'THIS IS STUPID! WHAT THE HECK/HELL AM I DOING?!' Ralsei and Susie thought for a brief moment, before following through with each others' actions. This meant that Ralsei immediately chomped upon the spoon, chewing the cake and sucking the frosting off of the spoon in a dainty manner. The purple dragon girl watched, still in disbelief.

'..FUCK!' Susie thought, already pulling her spoon away and readying a second portion of baked goods to Ralsei. 'YOU'D BETTER STOP, OR ELSE I'LL... I'LL..!' She thought heatedly, biting her lips as the goat boy continued to excitedly eat every portion Susie fed to him.

Susie's thoughts froze, watching as Ralsei savored the flavor of frosting on the spoon in his mouth. It was as if it were a rare occasion. As if he weren't supposed to be doing this. His eyes were clenched closed as well, though his noises weren't avoidable.

“...mmh!” He exclaimed, sniffling somewhat. It almost appeared as if he were overwhelmed with emotions. From the way he squirmed, it was clear he was savoring each and every mouthful. The silver spoon clattered gently as he licked and chewed it clean.

“...and another one,” Susie offered gently, readying yet another spoonful of cake before gently pushing it forward. What the FUCK was she doing? A few days ago, the thought of spoon-feeding anyone would make her want to jump into the nearby lake. However, watching Ralsei eagerly munch upon spoonful after spoonful of baked goods only softened her up. She was on one knee, watching as the little nerd graciously savored his own cooking. If she didn't know any better, she would've thought he was... licking the spoon? “Tastes good, right?”

“Mhm,” Ralsei quickly answered, his voice muffled as he kept his eyes shut. His blush was growing deeper and deeper with each second. Naturally, Susie was quick to notice this, feeling equally as embarrassed as the goat was.

'STOP BEING SO GODDAMN CUTE!' She yelled within her mind, shivering and shuddering in place as she stared at Ralsei. Her spoon clattered against the saucer that held his cake, barely able to contain herself.

'Oh god, she must hate this,' The poor prince thought to himself, savoring and gulping down the overly sweet flavor of cake frosting. He might as well leave now, right? Surely, he had eaten enough at this point. Darkners didn't need this sort of treatment. They didn't deserve it. Did they? It didn't stop Susie from feeding him his own magical baking. 'Cut your loses, Ralsei..!' He thought momentarily, wondering if he should just dart for the doorway, chasing after Kris, Lancer, and Rouxls Kaard. 'Just join the others-'

Ralsei's thoughts were interrupted by another spoon of delicious, vanilla-strawberry cake entering his lips. He didn't even realize his mouth was open!

“...weirdo,” Susie huffed playfully, barely able to look away from the sight of what she was allowing to happen. Her tone was gruff, yet... delicate. Gentle. Loving.

...loving?! Where the fuck did THAT... well, why wouldn't this whole ordeal be loving? Here she was, feeding spoonful after spoonful of cake to a guy who didn't even think he deserved a bedroom. It was obvious to her that she had to harbor some sort of love to him. She certainly wouldn't be doing this for anyone else.

“...mhmm....” The submissive prince replied softly, agreeing with her previous statement. He was still in disbelief of what was happening, yet still accepting the actions of his words. Yeah, he was a 'weirdo'. If that was the case, however, he'd happily be a 'weirdo' forever. Whatever made Susie continue to show her kind, gentle affection to him. Ralsei kept his eyes shut as she continued, unsure if he could look into Susie's pretty face without feeling even more flustered than he did currently.

Susie felt somewhat fortunate that Ralsei's eyes were closed. Even if her moves were delicate and slow, it was clear that she was feeling a lot of pent up 'cuteness aggression,' something she never even knew she experienced! Her composure was growing weaker with each piece of cake fed to the fluffy boy, her purple cheeks burning darker and hotter than they've ever been. Her own body was starting to shudder, once again beginning to secretly argue with her instincts.

'He looks so damn happy... I think?! He hasn't pulled away yet...little guy loves this...' She pondered, watching Ralsei thoughtfully chew his current piece. Susie felt her hands shake nervously, a new, different idea spawning in her brain. '...no. This is a dumbass idea, NO. I don't even know if he'll like it!' Ralsei's sweetness was becoming too much for the supposed 'tough girl' to bear. Even when he wasn't trying, he still managed to turn her heart into mushy slop. Why did she love it so much?!

'Do you dare? Do you fucking dare?!' Susie thought, panicking inwardly as she began to bite her lip again.

“...'kay. A-another bite, comin' up,” She said aloud, her hushed voice surprisingly anxious. She quietly set the plate and spoon off to the side, steeling her nerves. 'Now or never..!'

“Uh huh...” Ralsei responded, equally as quiet. With his eyes still shut, he began to open his mouth, readying himself for another piece of cake. Instead of baked goods, however, the fluffy prince got a taste of something very unexpected. In his opinion, it was much better than cake.

Susie had shoved her face forwards, bumping her lips against Ralsei's and kissed him. As the girl held the smooch, his eyes shot open, incredibly surprised with this turn of events. His blush burned redder than apples and hotter than all of the stars in the sky, almost in disbelief of what was even happening! Susie's lips were pleasantly soft, and it only took a few moments before Ralsei found himself melting longingly into the tender moment.

“Mmmh..!” He exclaimed with a muffled squeak, his brain completely fried of any and all conscious thought that didn't have to do with the girl he was kissing.

'Can this boy get any fluffier? Even his damn lips are soft!' Susie mused, barely able to think straight as her stumpy tail began wagging like crazy behind her. She imagined that, if Ralsei had one too, it'd be doing the same (and it was).

A few seconds felt like a few hours, though finally the two pulled away. Their faces hovered merely a few inches away from each other's, both panting gently, looking into each other's eyes. It was as if the two were trying to gauge the other's reaction. The two were clearly flustered, though there was definitely a shared tenderness between them.

For a bit, neither one knew what to even say. Neither one had really kissed anyone before, nor did they expect to do that with each other. It was... pleasant. Ralsei finally found the nerve to whisper, “T-thank you...”

Susie slowly wrapped her left arm around the prince's back, slowly pulling him into an embrace as her other hand started to curl into his. “...want seconds?” She whispered back, her face still warm and comforting, yet still held remnants of a teasing smirk.

The answer came in the form of Ralsei initiating the kiss, this time, feeling a lot more prepared for the action. Susie was eager to follow through, closing her eyes as the two tenderly held and smooched each other. One kiss turned into two, then two into three, with each new kiss lasting longer and longer. The two felt incredibly safe and vulnerable with the other, and almost didn't want the moment to end.

Susie could still taste the sweet frosting on his tongue.

[fishfooddude]

No Phone Policy 3.0

Baby girl Berzatto needed a metal name, and this felt like the choice, ya know?

The Bear MasterList

Directory

Part 2

“Hi, beautiful… oh, this is hella trippy buggies. I remember holding you for the first time, and now I’m holding my granddaughter for the first time…” your Dad laughed as he stared down at the tiny pink bundle in his arms. You smiled as you watched him pace beside your bed. “Where’s Carmy? I have a present for this little princess—I’m surprised he isn’t glued to her, or you, for that matter.” 

You grinned as you adjusted yourself in the incredibly uncomfortable hospital bed you’d been in for the past 48 hours. “He went home to grab me some stuff I forgot.” you lied, hoping he wouldn’t see through your bluff. With a narrow stare, your Dad nodded. He could tell you weren’t telling him something, but he didn’t want to upset you by pushing the topic. 

“Well, what did you two name this perfect little angel?” your Dad questioned as he handed you your daughter. You shrugged, “Haven’t decided yet… the papers are over there on the table, but we can’t decide.” 

“What were you two thinkin’? I’m team something unique and magical, especially since that lil girl was born on one of the most magical days of the year.” he smiled, putting a hand over his chest. You chuckled and adjusted the infant in your arms.

“July 23. Best day of your life.” you answered, “You know, I know the story by heart… but she hasn’t heard it yet.” the sing-song nature of your comment made your Dad lean forward in his chair. “Baby’s first Grandpa story! May I?” he asked, offering his hands to you. You laughed as you handed the baby back to him.

“I better get my daughter back, Dad,” you playfully scolded as he held her close to his chest. He shrugged and responded, “No promises. She’s my new favorite person in the world—your Ma and sisters, and the boys are a very close second, but right now—it’s all her.” 

“You hear that gorgeous? Grandpa has known you for 30 minutes, and your greatness has already superseded your Mommy’s. You’re my perfect lil angel.” he cooed. As he babbled at her, you rolled your eyes, “Tell the story, Grandpa.” 

He scoffed in your direction before turning on the story-telling voice he would use when telling your nephews' stories. “The year was 1986. Your Grandpa was traveling with one of the greatest bands mankind will ever know, Van Halen. Metallica is also a pretty fuckin’ awesome choice for music- don’t let your Daddy ruin your taste in music, princess. You will be my little metalhead.” 

“Dad.” you scolded. He shot you an exasperated look, “He’s not even here bonding with his daughter. I’m GOING to shit on his shitty taste in music.” he challenged. He noticed your subtle wince when he brought up Carmy for a second time. Something was going on, but he didn’t dare bring it up, “Ok, ok, I’ll stop shittin’ on Carmy. Back to baby’s first Grandpa story.” he chuckled, leaning back in his chair and adjusting the baby in his arms. 

“Grandpa was in St. Louis. I’d followed Van Halen for 12 weeks across the continental United States. I was broke as shit, hungry as hell, and I STANK. I’m at the truck stop right- there’s this little diner called Olivette. I ordered the cheapest breakfast I could, and at the end of my meal- this GORGEOUS waitress brought me a piece of gooey butter cake- a Missouri delicacy, in time you’ll have your fair share, princess.” he assured the gurgling bundle in his arms, “The waitress goes, ‘it’s on the house sugar’ in this cute ass little twang and I about died. That was your Grandma Dottie.” 

You smiled as he continued the story. He went in to explain how he’d worked up the courage to ask her if she was going to the Van Halen show that night, and when she said ‘yes,’ he knew she was the one. You laughed as he explained that his mutual love of music had brought him an amazing life. 

“I met Dottie on July 23, 1986, so the fact you were born on July 23, 2024, is a sign. I think I can convince your Mommy to give you a metal ass name. Auntie Pamala was named after Panama- the best Van Halen song. Your Mommy’s middle name is Olivette because that’s where I met your Grandma. Then Auntie Mars is Mars because Grandma wouldn’t let me name her after Lars Ulrich, but Mars was acceptable.” you laughed as your Dad explained the Y/L/N family lure. “Your Auntie Pam is my favorite, though- she named her boys after Eddie and Alex Van Halen.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I love you, Daddy, but I’m not naming my daughter after Van Halen or Metalica.” He scoffed in response. What about Pantera or Megadeath? I’m just sayin’ with a last name like Bearzatto. She needs a metal-ass name.” 

You laughed as you collected your daughter back from him, “Okay, buggies, I love you, and I’m really proud of you. Not just for procreating but for everything you’ve done. Your Ma would be real proud, too.” 

~

“What do you mean she doesn’t have a name yet?” your sister Pam laughed as she cradled your daughter in her arms. You shrugged, “We just can’t decide.” 

“Didn’t he insist on some Van Halen reference?” Mason, Pam’s husband, laughed as he entered the room with a brown paper bag. You shook your head, “He gave her three band onesies, but I think I got out of the Van Halen references.” 

Mason shook his head as he placed the bag on the end of your bed, “I wasn’t sure what you’d be cravin’, but I figured a sub and chips was a safe bet.” he grinned. “Thanks, Mason.”

“What about Jade Van? Dad would freak over the reference.” your baby sister Mars laughed as she put her head on your shoulder, and she snuggled closer to you, craning her neck to get a better look at your still-unnamed daughter. You shook your head, “I don’t know how Carmy would feel about that one.”

“Bitch. He isn’t even here. Name her whatever the fuck you want.” she said with an overly dramatic eye roll. Mars was the only one who knew about the issues you and Carmy had been going through, but you couldn’t stomach telling her that Carmy missed the birth. 

“How about Blade? Blade Berzatto—fuckin’ metal, right?” you joked, trying to brush Carmy out of your mind. Mars erupted into laughter,, which startled the baby in your arms. You cradled the baby and nudged Mars to shut up. “I love it. But let’s go more norm-core,” Mars said as she ran her thumb against the baby’s chubby cheek.

~

“Are you an Erin? Jasper? Kali? Luna?” you listed off baby names as you did skin-to-skin after the baby’s afternoon feeding. You were finally done with visitors for the day, and you’d turned your phone off to avoid dealing with Carmy. You’d inevitably have to talk to him at one point, but having at least one more day of peace was a priority right now. You didn’t know where he was or what he was doing, but it was a safe assumption that he was probably working himself to the bone at The Bear. The Bear… Bear… “Wolf.” the name came to you. “Wolf Berzatto… Daddy goes by Bear. We were calling cub while I was pregnant… you don’t call baby wolves cubs, but I like it. You do need a middle name, though. I know Daddy liked the name Bonnie.” you rattled off before leaning over to kiss the baby’s hat-covered head. 

“What if you hate the name Wolf? I mean, you could go by your middle name or a nickname… Daddy’s name is Carmen, but he goes by Carmy. Okay, Wolf Bonnie Berzatto. I like it, and if Daddy doesn’t, he can suck my dick. Am I swearing too much around you? I feel like I am.” you laughed, “Okay… also, you’re only getting your Daddy’s last name because I changed my last name when I married him.” 

“Wolf… that’s quite a name,” Natalie awkwardly complimented, trying not to pass too much judgment on her niece. She can go by Bonnie if she hates it.” You defended your name choice for the hundredth time in the short eight hours since announcing her name to your family group chat. Turning your phone back on had been anxiety-inducing. Carmy had left you hundreds of texts and voicemails begging to be allowed in the hospital room and apologizing for anything and everything he could think of. It was endearing, but you were still pissed off. 

“Does Carmy know about the name choice?” Natalie carefully prodded as she watched you shove stuff into your bag. You shook your head, “I haven’t talked to him yet.” 

Natalie knew you hadn’t talked to him and knew about you barring him from the hospital. He came back to the restaurant. Natalie had seen Carmy upset in the past, but this was a different kind of upset. He went off on Richie about the ‘no phone policy’ he’d enforced on all staff. Carmy was never a fighter, but Marcus and Sweeps had to hold him back after Carmy had punched Richie in the side of the head.  Richie, visibly disorientated, screamed a ‘what the fuck’ alerting the kitchen staff of the fight going on in the thankfully empty front of house. It took a while for Carmy to calm down enough to tell anyone what had happened. Richie apologized but said Carmy missed the birth, which wasn’t his fault. It was Carmy’s fault. Richie went off about Carmy knowing your due date and how he should’ve planned better and asked for an exception to the rule. 

Natalie sighed, remembering how that comment had riled Carmy up again. She drove him home while he called you repeatedly, getting progressively more upset each time his call went to voicemail. “She can’t do this to me, Sugar- I know I fucked up, but-but she can’t-” Carmy stopped midsentence and began rocking himself forward and backward in his seat. “Carmy, wh-wh-what can I do? How can I help you?” Natalie begged as she parked in the driveway of the house you two owned. “Do you have a fuckin’ time machine so I can go back and not miss the birth of my fuckin’ daughter!” he screamed, making Natalie freeze in her seat.

Natalie stayed with Carmy the entire time you were in the hospital. He was a mess. He flipped between extreme rage and full-blown panic. He ranted about how you were going to leave him and prevent him from seeing his daughter. He cried so hard he threw up multiple times. He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t eating. Natalie had never seen her brother like this before and was at a loss for what to do. 

When you called her to come pick you and the baby up from the hospital, she didn’t know what to say. You’d asked her not to tell or bring Carmy, which she understood, but it still conflicted her. You hadn’t filled her in on Carmy’s minimal involvement with your pregnancy the past weeks, but Natalie could put two and two together. After enlisting the help of Syd and Richie, Natalie felt as if she could leave Carmy and come pick you up. 

“Are you okay, Nat?” you questioned as you strapped Wolf into her car seat. It’s nothin’. I just feel really guilty that I’m meeting my niece before Carmy had the chance to…” Natalie explained as she crossed her arms over her stomach. You knew Natalie had a point. You felt that same guilt. You wanted nothing more than to cuddle with your husband and daughter. 

You sighed, “Well, I guess I have to talk to Carmy at one point, so let’s go.”

Part 4

[moeswriting]

good morning, miller | mine one-shot

this is a part of my series Mine. i highly suggest reading that first to make sense of the little things in this fic. takes place between chapters three and four.

pairing: mine!Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: mornings with the millers,

or sarah’s first day of kindergarten

warnings: doesn’t really make complete sense unless you’ve read Mine, unbelievable amounts of fluff, joel miller is a grumpy boy without his coffee :(, sarah miller doesn’t need coffee– she’s hoarded all the energy (what the fuck, she just stole mine– SARAH GIVE IT BACK!!!!), reader needs some iced tea and a nap, mention of breakfast food (bacon, eggs, that kinda stuff), reader is wearing  Joel’s shirt (described as “fitting you well”, no other description), some subtle hints to Sarah having some really intense ADHD but it’s never said explicitly

word count: 2k

a/n: a little treat for all y’all who waited so long for chapter three <3

series masterlist | read on ao3

✦ ✦ ✦

August 14th, 1995

“DADDY!” With a scream, something light flops down onto his chest, startling him awake.

“Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. DAD!” Sarah emphasizes each word with a bounce, pushing the air out of his lungs.

When he creaks his eyes open, dust piled in the corners of them, it’s bright– sun shining through the window on the side of his bed and warming his bare back. He would give anything for another hour in bed.

“Dad,” she draws out, grabbing the sides of his face and pushing his cheeks together, “It’s my first day of school. You need to get up! Sugar is making breakfast, so you need to get up.”

She’s already dressed and ready to go– hair puffy, but pushed out of her face with her favorite pink butterfly clips, a pink shirt with a few Care Bears on it and jean overalls with little strawberries on the front pocket. It’s very clear to him that you’ve done this since everything looks coordinated and doesn’t clash like it usually does when he dresses her and it isn’t her princess dress, which is what Sarah would’ve put on if she had dressed herself. He wishes you were still in bed with him– he can feel your absence like a missing limb, like a vital part of him is gone. 

His voice comes out muffled, since she’s squishing his cheeks, when he replies, “O’ay, ‘m up.”

She lets out a yelp of excitement, jumps off him, and slides off his tall bed and onto the floor. The only part of her that he can see as she runs out of the room is the top of her hair as it bounces around the bed and out of the door.

When his feet hit the hardwood floor, he shivers. It’s cold, much too cold without you next to him.

He pulls a pair of jeans off the floor and slips them on. Where’s that stupid shirt he threw last night? Whatever– he’ll put a shirt on later.

Stepping out of his room is heavenly. It smells like the diner, but so, so much better and it’s warmer, so much warmer.

He follows the scent into the kitchen, shuffling his tired feet through the hallway and to the entryway to the kitchen, leaning on the wall.

There you are, humming along with the buzzy radio attached to the bottom of the cabinet and pushing scrambled eggs around a pan. You’re wearing gray sweatpants and a blue shirt that fits you well– that’s where his shirt went. 

He thinks it’s a Madonna song playing, but he can’t really tell through Sarah’s rambling she’s spewing at you from the kitchen table.

“Maddie from preschool is going to the same school as me. I think that’s really cool. I wonder if she’ll play princesses with me. Do you think she’ll play princesses with me?”

You turn to look at her over your shoulder and nod, “Yeah, baby. I bet she does. Just make sure you ask, okay?”

“Okay– I think she will too. Remember to ask, remember to ask.” She pushes a finger into the middle of her forehead, as if to force her thoughts to the forefront of her mind.

You nod again, “You’ll remember– just be patient with yourself.”

Sarah starts mumbling to herself and counting her fingers– he cannot even begin to imagine what is going on in her big brain.

While turning your face back to the stove, you catch his eye and a smile takes over your face.

God, what he wouldn’t do to see that smile everyday. He can’t believe that the sight of him makes you look so damn beautiful.

“Good morning, Miller.”

He can’t find it within himself to put effort into forming words with his mouth. Too much energy. He grumbles nonsense instead.

You huff out a breath of amusement, “Come on, grump– I made coffee for you.”

Coffee. That’s what he needs: coffee.

He shuffles further into the kitchen. He feels like a fucking zombie. He’d bet a million bucks he looks like one too.

Without even looking, you hold out a mug of coffee towards him, the other hand pulling the eggs off the heat. He mumbles a thanks and takes it out of your hand.

Oh, he’s so glad you know just how to make his coffee. It’s heaven on his taste buds. Black, not too hot, not too cold. He can already feel the caffeine kick starting his brain.

Placing his mug down, the green one that proudly displays “World’s Best Dad” (something his brother had bought him as a joke when he first found out about Amanda being pregnant– it hadn’t been funny at the time, but he really liked the mug now), he grabs your waist from behind and snuggles his nose into your neck. His eyes slip closed at the comfort he feels being near you.

“G’mornin’.”

You turn your head and press a kiss into his bed-mussed hair, “Morning, baby.”

“Thank you for gettin’ Guppy ready for school.”

You shuffle around in his arms. He’s clearly in the way of you moving around efficiently, but you don’t say anything and neither does he.

“It’s no problem. I woke up earlier than usual and I figured you should sleep in a little. You haven’t gotten enough sleep lately.”

You’re right. You’re always right. Because Tommy’s been gone for two months now, he’s had to pick up the slack with their contracting stuff. He can’t stop doing it, it’s the only way he can afford to feed Sarah and register her for school and keep up with rent. His income from the diner isn’t enough anymore.

It’s fine though. He’ll do it. Anything to keep Sarah happy, healthy, and fed.

But it’s taking quite the toll on his body. He’s way too young to be feeling this damn old.

All he does in response to you is nod into your shoulder and sigh.

“Go sit. I made you a plate.”

He lets go of you, instantly feeling the loss, before he flops down onto the chair next to Sarah.

“Good morning, Guppy,” he mumbles through a sleepy smile, “What’re you doin’?”

She doesn’t even look up to respond to him, still intensely staring down at her fingers, “Counting.”

“Countin’ what?”

You place his forgotten coffee mug and a plate in front of him. It’s filled with bacon, scrambled eggs, and a handful of cut strawberries. You’ve been getting on his ass about being a good example with his eating habits– “You need to eat more fruit and vegetables or Sarah’s going to think that what you normally eat is an acceptable diet.”

He ate them because you asked him to. He knew you were beyond stressed lately, what with starting your senior year of college and getting ready for student teaching next semester. You didn’t need another thing like what he ate to stress you out even more.

“How many friends from preschool I have in my class. Three.”

He takes another sip of his coffee, “I bet that number goes up a lot by the end of today.”

She smiles up at him as he sticks a strawberry in his mouth, “I hope so.”

You chime in, sliding into the chair across from Sarah, “I know so. You’ll have to tell me all about school and how super cool it is when I come over on Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?! You’re not coming back until Wednesday,” she shrieks, throwing her hands up in the air.

He thinks that if he didn’t know that sometimes you needed to be by yourself in your own space and this was the first time you’d told him you weren’t coming back for two days, he would be reacting the same way Sarah was.

You look freaked out for a second with your eyebrows raised and your eyes wide, before your expression cools, “I got school too, Guppy.”

“But– how I supposed remember all the stuff happens today so I can tell you on Wednesday?” She forgets a few words in her need to get out what she wants to say quickly, a common occurrence with his five-year-old.

You shake your head at her, “It’s okay if you forget. That big brain of yours is gonna keep it all stashed in there, you just might need a little reminder to jog your memory.”

Joel butts in, hopefully to take some of the heat off you, “We could write it all down, just in case.”

She takes a minute to think about it, finger pressed into her temple. You both watch as she comes to a conclusion and nods her head definitively. “Okay. But we have to write it down right after school, Daddy. I don’t wanna forget.”

He mimics her nod, “Of course, Guppy.”

You spend the rest of the time that he spends finishing his breakfast singing whatever songs come on the radio and leading Sarah in an uncoordinated dance around the kitchen as she throws her head back with the force of her giggles.

He wishes everyday could be like this. Waking up to you in his apartment. In bed or greeting him in the kitchen– it didn’t matter to him. As long as you were here, he was happy and so was his little girl.

He throws a shirt on (not the one you stole, he insists you keep that one on) and guides his girls out of the second-story apartment and down onto the street. It’s bustling with activity as people come to the busy downtown street to get to work and get errands done.

Sarah’s already hopping down the street, her pink Elmo backpack being jostled up and down with her as she bounces, while he locks the door behind them.

“Sarah,” you call for her, gesturing with the hand you don’t have placed on his lower back for her to come back.

She obeys, but she does so reluctantly. Her hands wrap around her backpack straps and her head faces the concrete below her.

“You gotta hold Daddy’s hand, remember?” He holds a hand out for her to take when she’s standing next to him again. He’s been trying to really hammer this point home to her for years now, to get her to remember, but she has a harder time focusing when she’s really excited. He doesn’t mind– she just needs to be reminded.

“Yes…” She slaps her palm into his and clamps down her tiny fingers in between his thumb and his pointer finger.

“Thank you, baby.”

You start your trek down the street. Sarah was going to the grade school that was on your college campus, the one that the education students helped teach at occasionally. You assured him that you knew a lot of the people that would be interacting with Sarah and that they were all fantastic. It just made him nervous sometimes, but he trusted you.

“Can I hold Sugar’s hand too?”

You beam down at her, “Of course.”

When you give her your hand, she insists that you both swing her, which, of course you do because you both are wrapped around her comically small pinkie finger.

He successfully drops her off with no tears, which he doesn’t know how he managed considering he had cried to you the previous night about how weird it was that his little girl was going to school now and that she wouldn’t have any family around her there like she always did. You had assured him that going to school would be a fun new adventure for her. Sarah was such a social butterfly that she could fit in anywhere. He just didn’t want her to grow up.

He takes you to your dorm room and says good morning to Elaine, who’s snuggled deep in Robin’s chest and barely acknowledges his existence. You give him a long kiss and tell him that you’ll see him on Wednesday. Wednesday could not come sooner.

When he punches his timecard at work later that morning, he sighs in disbelief at how big his little girl was growing– at how much he would give for another morning just like this one. Maybe someday.

series masterlist | masterlist of all masterlists 🌼 | eras masterlist 🌻

[the-laughing-lunatic]

skitters up with my comically large cowboy hat in paw. can you write about engie being like a dad to reader? tysm!!

(of course!! He’s literally so dad-coded hehe, thank u for requesting!)

Reader with father figure Engie (PLATONIC) (obviously)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

Man is the appointed dad friend of the mercs so he’s obviously gonna be super nice with you

If you don’t have a good father figure he can kind of pick up on it

My guy has a built in daddy issues detector

Probably would try to give you some more subtle compliments, shit like:

“Good job out there kiddo! Doin the team proud”

You’re one of the few people allowed to come into his workshop whenever you want

He’ll also offer to teach you some stuff if you want, probably will lie sometimes and say he needs another person to help him on a project (when he can absolutely do it himself) bc he wants bonding time with you

One of his main love languages is quality time but he always feels like he needs an excuse to hang out with you so yeah

If you ever tell him that you see him as a dad Engie will absolutely start crying 

Get ready to be called kiddo, bud, son/missy, sugar plum, honey pie, etc

Ive said it before but this man will give you the best hugs ever

He will absolutely adopt you if thats what you want :]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

(HOLY SHIT IM POSTING??? Ikr, um anyways thank u all for 100 followers, I’m gonna be trying to write more. Y’all are genuinely so sweet, I treasure every nice word y’all say <3)

[spotlightlowlife]

Personality over power hazbin a helluva lie

even in the real world, those who have power and influence don't need to be smart or charming to be heard around the world, yet someone from nothing is highly likely to go unheard always.

One thing I do appreciate about Hazbin and Helluva is the awful relationships serving as a reminder (with multiple examples) that there are a lack of good depictions of stable couples from rich and poor backgrounds in fiction.

You can't tell me that these relationships don't have a massive power imbalance.

'They just want positivity and therefore they are in the right'

is the message pushed when depicting the party holding all the cards, but being a jerk does not level the playing field.

Both Blitzø and Fizz have certianly been sassy dicks to others, but it just so happens that both become desparatre at realising that this could all be over or is entirely down to their sugar daddy ending it because they're bored of them.

They're not just getting sex and the chance to hang out in luxury, they're getting the opportunity to work, Blitzø is supporting others and Fizz has a supply of artificial limbs to replace his missing ones.

Both are highly performative in trying to prove themselves which suits their background of being used for money, yet they've been out there achieving and are grown adults, but still getting guided by a superior, another sort of daddy, there to subtle coercion or aggressively throw put downs.

Oops and the Mammon mid season don't make a lot of sense if you're trying to understand Fizz's actions and mindset stripped back of Ozzie's influence, everything was fine in Oops, for some reason Ozzie didn't want Fizz going out into this dangerous area alone, but Fizz wanted space from a smothering partner (who interestingly enough attends the pageant rehersals) and is happy to set out while Ozzie is exceptionally busy. Makes sense. Fizz uses a driver but then does a runway walk down the street. Doesn't make sense. Blitzø, Crimson and Striker all happen to be a few meters away. Convenient but this sped up his reconciliation with Blitzø, so progress. By the end of the episode, shaken up and damaged Fizz who is entirely dependent on Ozzie for a repair doesn want to go out again, so Ozzie was right, isn't this trauma bond is cute.

Next episode Ozzie wants Fizz to quit his other job, by the end, that happens. Nevermind that the previous episode had Fizz stand out intentionally and get into trouble for his love of fame when he could have used a crystal to teleport to the rehearsal, nevermind him undermining Ozzie's fear of this area which had been the only issue that episode which could have sparked a grown convensation about mortality and powerlessness, let's just nuke the job that brings him that fame, blame that and takes him away from his other life, freeing up time for we know what...

Next time we see Fizz, he's at home, promoting Ozzie's work.

Why did we see this scene? Because Blitzø would approach Fizz (who already undermined his experience with 'dating' royalty) in a desperate attempt to impress Stolas, who's recent behaviour reads boredom and regret at their transactionship. So important is what Blitzø has with Stolas that all of the other people he screwed over and whatever the beef, it's all trivial, he's even willing to face them in order to prove to Stolas his decency, like decency was ever a thing in this.

Stolas not only didn't let Blitzø have a say when he cornered him with an ultimatum, but masked himself of wrong doing by giving Blitzø a replacement for the grimore that was easily attained through ptivalge. He went on to gaslight him by denying tue stuff he was just into and negging by attending the anti Blitzø party that is supposedly for ex's yet what reason do we have to believe these all past relationships and not a bunch of flings thrown in? Why is Stolas viewed as an ex when he and Blitzø were supposed to be sneaking around? When they were out in public it was Stolas who looked ashamed, so anyone who crosses paths with Blitzø is the innocent party who is in the right?

Stolas being at the party was no big deal to anyone, how does he not stand out as royalty being the latest addition to the club? Blitzø's ability to piss people off has him ranking up there with the same royalty people secretly hate.

Fast forward and just as we have seen Stolas think about the family he never really had, we know have Blitzø aligning with him and seeing all that they could have.

Moving on from the invested into..

Nobody can tell me Vortex doesn't get the shitty end of the stick in working as a lackey in a world where his kind have few options and can be reduced to pets

before getting the chance to let his hair down and hang out with his girlfriend, a leader of hell who poses as a normie

and benefits from others 'letting their hair down' by binging at superficial parties that may allow them to forget how trash things are for the night.

One thing about Bee's character's that works is ironically the lack of effort spent on the female characters. There is zero forced toxic romance between her and Vortex, combined with her being immortal, very shallow and her description claiming she empathise and caters her parties to impress, he easily could be a fad for the moment. Fair enough.

Lastly Vaggie who was thought to be a banged up sinner.

Revealed to be an angel in a twist (which didn't matter in the slightest, is this less of or more of a big deal than dating the lowest class of demon?), what followed was Charlie disappointed that she had bee lied to all these years, so what conversations were they actually having? Seems a lot like Blitzø and Stolas's breakfast together where they realise that they don't really know one another, only difference being Charlie x Vaggie have years together. Did Charlie ever learn a backstory because there's nothing to make us believe Vaggie gave a false one? This makes Charlie reading the storybook of her parents and hell's creation even more placey because why now?

Not only was Vaggie cast out and homeless when she was maimed and abandoned, but as far as angel's go, her type seem to be bottom of the pack? The imps or hellhounds of heaven.

Vaggie goes on to be a loyal sidekick, bruiser, chemistry deficient girlfriend and keeper of Charlie's who keeps her mouth shut of any opinion on Charlie's endeavours, it's not even clear that she agrees.

But again, the lack of time that went into the ladies has Charlie as a childish bimbo who is bad at this job she invented, isn't really a people's person and seen running the hotel at the very least, but even sulked to her daddy for help, which helped what should be a bigger deal slide.

It would make sense to work more on the powerful to powerless devide. Those sitting right at the top being so oblivious to how their behaviour affects others because they don't realise that they do see those lower than them as subservient regardless of how 'nice' they are. Those at the top having little idea what being beaten down on in life feels like and not developing a gloomy outlook. There are ways these characters can too be empathetic dispite being a fantasist troublemaker by not realizing their privilege. On the opposite end a number of characters have been the guilty and wrong party for being desperate and going into deals.

[theforlorne]

Vox’s Response (Letter Four, a Vox x Reader)

You sent a love letter to Vox, and he responded.

Explicit, No Warnings, F/M, M/M, Other/M, Tag(s): Love Letters, Flirting, Suggestive Themes, Explicit Language, The correct use of company time, and paper, light degradation, Ambiguous Gender Reader, POV Second Person, Sugar Daddy Vox, Sexual Content WC: 565

♡ Previous Chp ♡ Love Letter Series Masterlist ♡

Chapter 4

Letter Four

With a deep fondness, you allowed your fingers to drift from one photo to the next. There were three in total. Each one captured a moment from your night out with Vox, immortalised in ink with a glossy sheen.

One in particular stood out from the rest though.

Nothing was different about it. It was a photograph like the others. What you had missed in the moment, however, the photo captured for you to see.

The cheerful, drunken mess that formed you held up Vox’s phone. Vox also tried to hold his phone, but the tips of his claws barely skimmed the surface of it. You were holding it too high, leveraging your position on his lap to keep it away from him.

It looked like you were having the best time of your life. The laughter was muted, and the image was still, but you could recall the way Vox’s hand had slunk around your waist to keep you from sliding off of him in your fit of hysterics. Then there was his expression.

You had taken the photo right at the moment he had worn his heart on his sleeve.

Despite reaching for his phone, his attention remained on you. Every part of him seemed relaxed, and his whole body slouched into you like a pillow. The usual sharp teeth were hidden behind a subtle smile. His eyes gleamed with gentle admiration.

He looked happy.

You couldn’t get enough of it.

Of course, his letter didn’t carry the same soft tones.

‘Dearest Admirer, I decided to take initiative and write to you first to officially mark the end of - and commemorate - this selection of outdated communications. It will be sorely missed. If you can’t detect the sarcasm, then I might regret the next part of this letter. This partnership has been more than successful. I will try to keep this as professional as I can, but lovebug you fucked up my systems. You can’t tell me we didn’t look good together. And you. Damn you’re hot - especially when you’re on the brink of an orgasm. Has your thigh healed up? I can take a look at it if you want, there’s time in my schedule for you. It would be nice to catch up. Your company is tolerable, more so than I’d like to admit. I’m almost glad you reached out to me. And please, don’t take that as permission to send more letters. This is the last one. If you send me another, I will void our deal. You have my number now for a reason. Feel free to use it. Whenever. There’s no excuses for slow responses either. We’re partners, that means we work together, so I need you to talk to me. Communicating our needs and all that. Yep, we’re killing it. By the way, you owe me for the photos. Don’t think I’ll print them all out for you in the future, but those ones seem nice enough to frame. You like that sort of stuff, right? Anyway! Make sure you watch the news tonight, there’s a special announcement I want you to see. Keep in mind that it might take a while to come into effect. There has been a bit of jealousy around the terms we agreed, but everything will work out fine in the end. Trust me. Yours faithfully, Vox – CEO Voxtek Enterprises’

[charmac]

How goes the writing process? Super excited for the next chapter of the sugar daddy au, can’t wait!!

This ask is, admittedly, two weeks old but I will answer it now with good news instead of two weeks ago with mostly nothing to report:

I have once again been gripped by hauntings… Plagued with thoughts…Obsessively thinking and dumping narration and prose and dialogue and other things that happen when literature comes together. In layman’s terms, the writing process is indeed going.

As of publishing this ask, I have a little over 9,000 words down for this chapter, which I would love to say encompasses the bulk of the plot (wouldn’t that be nice? a chapter size that’s reasonable?), but is missing a chunk of stuff. And by a chunk, I’m just gonna (hopefully) overestimate for you and say half. I would love to keep this one under 20k words, truly it does not need that many, it was written in my notes as “some kind of interlude chapter,” because there are two very basic things to cover in this one, but alas.

(Pls don’t read into the word interlude, I don’t and never did mean it in a monotonous/skippable way, but as a bridge between arcs of the first third of this story)

It’s a fun one, good chunk of Charlie, lotta references that even the casual viewer (if they read fanfiction, I guess) would get, always the more subtle references, more texting, three baseball games, Dennis being a weirdo, and, oh, that’s right:

IYKYK. See you soon ;-)

[clingingtoskeletons]

I don't know if this is weird but I saw your claims on the rarepair fest for draco/remus and first hi I've recently discovered I love that pair and second "Draco secretly pining since third year and wanting a chance to woo Remus. Sugar Daddy!Draco could be funny, especially if it's subtle and Remus doesn't realize it until someone else points it out." - I love it

Hello! First of all, sorry for taking a few days to answer this, I've been busy helping out with some stuff for a wedding that's in a couple days (+ hyperfixating on the sims).

Second, I have no idea if this is weird either but I'm not weirded out, so 🤷 I was actually very excited to see your ask because Remus/Draco has been a guilty pleasure of mine for the last couple of months and I love to see other people on board with it, haha.

Third, thank you! Sugar Daddy!Draco/Oblivious!Remus is something I want SOOO bad and I'm happy to hear others like it too. Fingers crossed someone gets inspired and decides to write it. I just checked and it seems someone's claimed the other one which is great – there's not enough fics for them IMO, especially as the main focus as opposed to being the background to Snarry/another ship, so I can't wait to read the submission :D

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Who Taught You How to Love Like That? - Chapter Two

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics. Word count: ~2.8k

Chapter summary: Alicent's birthday dinner proves to be eventful in more ways than one.

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

She flops down onto the sofa next to her flatmate, once safely back inside, huffing a dramatic sigh and replaying in her mind the mortifying moment that Aemond refused her kiss.

Mysaria takes out her earphones and closes her laptop, turning to her with a smirk. “So, sugar baby, how was your evening?”

“Shit.” She shoots back, dipping a hand into the open crisp bag that sits between them and taking a few.

“Let me guess, didn’t look anything like his picture?”

She shakes her head, speaking around a mouthful of crisps. “Exactly like his picture. I tried to kiss him and he said no.”

“Sounds like a win to me.” Mysaria says with a shrug. “If you can get away with not doing that sorta stuff and still get the money then you absolutely should.”

She sighs. Therein lies the problem, with Aemond she wants to do that sort of stuff.

The rest of the weekend passes by uneventfully, with no further word from Aemond, no matter how hard she wills for it as she stares at their existing text chain.

She has to suppress a strangled sounding squeal on Monday when he texts her while she’s at work. Her hand flies to her phone the moment she sees his name light up her screen with a buzz.

Are you working today?

She is almost embarrassed at the speed with which she replies.

I am. Why?

She feels her breath hitch as his response comes instantly.

I’ll swing by at lunch time.

She’s unable to concentrate for the rest of the morning, too nervous to focus on anything other than the fact that she’ll be seeing Aemond in a few hours. The time passes painfully slowly and she feels as though she’s anxiously drummed her fingers on every available surface until finally it’s noon.

She spots him in the foyer as she heads downstairs. He is instantly recognisable; taller than almost everyone, the top half of his pale hair is pulled back from his face in a bun, while the rest hangs loose around his shoulders. His fitted black shirt is rolled up to the elbows and paired with a well tailored pair of suit trousers and expensive looking dress shoes.

He gives her his subtle trademark smirk when he sees her and she immediately feels self conscious under the intensity of his gaze.

“Thanks for giving up your lunch break for me.” He says after she’s greeted him. “I figured it would make our story more believable if I’d actually seen you at work. We’re bound to get asked questions at dinner on Wednesday.”

“Oh…sure, no problem.” She feels herself deflate a little upon hearing that this isn’t a visit because he simply wants to see her.

“I brought you a little something, guessing you haven’t had lunch yet?”

He hands her a thick, white box that has ‘Cédric Grolet’ inscribed in gold lettering. It’s a bakery she’s read about in Time Out Magazine, but never visited. In her opinion, anyone willing to spend six pounds on a croissant has more money than sense. She opens the box, her eyebrows raising in surprise as she looks at the delicate pastry inside.

“You brought me a custard tart.” She meets his eye with a grin.

Aemond scoffs. “Parisian flan, actually.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks heat up as she holds his gaze. “I’ll eat this later. Don’t want to risk it around the exhibits.”

He nods, a mixture of amusement and something she can’t quite place evident in his eye as he looks at her. “Shall we then?” He gestures for her to lead the way.

She guides him around the museum and she is impressed with the depth of his knowledge as he tells her what he knows regarding Ancient Egypt and Greek history. Likewise, he pays rapt attention when she explains the timeline of the Vikings and Saxons, asking relevant questions and nodding enthusiastically as she answers.

For the first time in a long time she feels genuinely listened to when she speaks about the subject she’s so fiercely passionate about. It’s nice to have someone take an interest. The conversation flows easily and all too quickly an hour slips by.

“I should let you get back to work.” Aemond tells her, pulling his phone from his pocket and checking the time. “I need to get back to Vhagar anyway.”

“Vhagar?”

“Yeah.” Aemond says, and for the first time since they met, his face lights up with genuine happiness. “She’s my doberman. She’s getting on a bit, so I try not to leave her with the dog walker for too long if I can help it.”

She feels herself melt a little at this admission. As if he wasn’t already perfect, he was an animal lover to top it all off.

He’s quick to compose himself, clearing his throat and returning to his stoic demeanour. “Anyway, I’ll pick you up at six on Wednesday, okay?”

She nods and they wave goodbye to each other. She heads back to work, a slight spring in her step for having seen Aemond. She can’t believe how much they have in common, smiling to herself as she wonders when she’ll get to meet Vhagar.

She’s brought crashing back to reality when her phone buzzes with a text from Aemond.

For working through your lunch break.

It’s immediately followed by a notification from her banking app. A one thousand pound deposit from A. Targaryen.

She knows she should feel elated by the money, but it’s a sobering reality check. He’s not your boyfriend, this is transactional.

When she arrives home from work on Wednesday afternoon, she is overwhelmed by the idea of having to get ready for Alicent’s birthday dinner. There is no way she can reuse the dress from Jace and Baela’s engagement party, and everything else in her wardrobe feels far too casual for a family as high end as the Targaryens.

She’s distracted momentarily when she catches sight of a package sitting on the kitchen side.

“Parcel on the side for you!” Mysaria calls out from her bedroom.

“I see it, thanks!” She shouts back, working to remove the packaging.

Inside is a Cartier box, with a note; ‘Would really like you to wear this to dinner - A.’

“Well, then, what is it?” Mysaria asks, creeping up behind her and resting her head on her shoulder. “It arrived this morning and I’ve resisted the temptation to open it all day!”

She gasps as she opens the box. A white gold necklace inlaid with diamonds, and a single sapphire at its center, rests inside.

Mysaria lets out a low whistle. “You could sell that and put down a deposit on a bloody house!”

She rolls her eyes. “I think he intends for me to wear it, not sell it. But what the fuck am I going to put it with? It’s going to look like I’ve put tinsel on shit!”

An hour later, having rummaged through Mysaria’s wardrobe, she’s finally ready, having paired a long sleeved, silky button down top with a faux leather skirt. Simple enough for a casual dinner, yet dressy enough to compliment the completely over the top jewelry that now sits around her neck.

Aemond arrives and is ever the gentleman, opening the passenger side door for her as she climbs into his car. Her eyes linger a little too long on the way his expertly tailored suit hugs his body. Thankfully, his attention is focused entirely on her throat, so he doesn’t notice.

“Necklace looks good.” He says buckling his seatbelt. “We’ll have to do something at some point about the rest of it though.”

Her mouth gapes open in shock. “What’s wrong with my outfit?!”

He reaches across, rubbing the material of her top between his thumb and forefinger. “Polyester.”

The touch of his fingers in such close proximity to her skin makes her feel so light headed that she can’t find it in herself to be offended. Wordlessly, he starts the car.

“So, I should brief you on what you’re getting into before we arrive.” Aemond glances over at her as he drives. “It's my mother's birthday. She won’t have cooked, she never does; she’ll have ordered Thai food. Her partner, Criston, will be there, so will my brother, Aegon, and my sister, Helaena. There’ll also be my half sister, Rhaenyra.”

She doesn’t miss how Aemond tenses up as he speaks of Rhaenyra. She can’t help but feel panicked at how intimate of an affair this will be, especially as this is only her second date with Aemond, if date is even the right word for it.

“What about the rest of your family that were at the engagement party?”

“Most of the people there were not anyone I’d consider family. My grandfather’s away on business and ‘Nyra knows better than to bring her boys. Mum won’t want them there. None of us do.”

The grip that Aemond has on the steering wheel tightens and his jaw clenches. She decides not to push the subject any further, it’s clearly a touchy one and she simply doesn’t know him well enough to pry. The rest of the drive passes in silence.

The townhouse they pull up outside of is lavish, a blanket of green ivy covers the outside. Aemond is quick to take her hand as they walk up the path to the front door. Her heart races at the feel of it, and she has to battle to remind herself that it’s all for show.

Alicent gives them both a warm welcome, pulling them into a tight hug with a kiss on both cheeks. She looks radiant as ever as she leads them through to a large dining room, with a long mahogany table at the center of it.

Helaena jumps up as soon as she sees them, giving them both a hug, while Aegon opts to remain seated, making a mock salute as he takes a swig from his beer bottle.

Aemond was right about the Thai food, as Criston enters shortly after they arrive, carrying several paper bags from a place called Patara and places them in the middle of the table.

Aemond pulls out a chair for her and she takes a seat, her eyes fluttering closed involuntarily as he presses his lips to her temple. A shiver runs through her.

“Get me a fork, would you, Hel? I’ll be here all fucking night trying to eat with chopsticks.” Aegon says, leaning forward to rummage in a bag.

“It’s Thai food, you eat it with a spoon, not chopsticks!” Helaena shoots back.

“That’s not a fork though, is it?” He rolls his eyes exasperatedly, pulling out tubs and setting them down. “Get me a fork!”

“Get your own fork, dick.” She fires back.

“Will you two stop it?!” Alicent hisses. “I just want one family dinner without an argument. Rhaenyra isn’t even here yet, stop opening the food. Aegon!”

She hurries from the room as the doorbell rings.

The mood around the table shifts. She notices Aemond rubbing his fingers together absentmindedly, his teeth grinding ever so slightly. Without thinking, she reaches over and takes his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He squeezes back, shooting her an appreciative look.

Rhaenyra sweeps into the room, looking glamorous. Her long, light hair is pulled into an intricate braid and a pair of teardrop ruby earrings hang delicately from her lobes.

“Apologies for my lateness.” She says with a tight smile. “Difficult to be on time when you have to make separate dinner plans for the side of the family that aren’t welcome.”

“Oh god, she’s started already.” Drawls Aegon. “Come on, who had ‘as soon as she arrives’ in the sweepstake for when ‘Nyra would start her bitching?”

“Aegon!” Alicent scolds him, her brown eyes widened with anger. Her face softens as she turns back to Rhaenyra. “Ignore him, I’m so pleased you could make it.”

The two women exchange a warm embrace before taking their seats.

The meal passes in relative high spirits, in spite of its awkward start. Expensive red wine is shared around the table, as they all dig into dishes of soft shell crab mango salad, chicken massaman and vegetable pad thai. 

Alicent asks her more about her line of work, while Aemond interjects that he’d dropped by to surprise her with lunch. This little anecdote is met with excited coos from both his mother and sister.

He plays the part of attentive boyfriend perfectly. Dishing out food onto her plate, feeding her from his fork and placing his hand on her knee at regular intervals. The longer it goes on for, the more difficult it becomes for her to remember that it’s all an act. The way her body responds to his touch is certainly not for show, however; there is no pretending when it comes to the gooseflesh left in the wake of his hand on her skin.

As the meal is drawing to its end, Rhaenyra sits back in her chair, running her fingers along the stem of her wine glass. “So, I was planning on making a gift of Dragonstone Cottage to Jace and Baela, since they’ll be needing a place to live together once they’re married.”

“That’s not yours to give away.” Aemond tells her, staring at her with an intensity that’s almost frightening.

“Father didn’t name an owner in his will. Technically, as first born, everything goes to me.” She says with an offhand shrug.

“That’s such bullshit!” Aegon seethes, over the rim of his glass.

“Don’t.” Criston warns. “You’ll upset your mother.”

“Maybe this is best talked about another time.” Alicent says, shooting an apologetic look around the table.

“That’s the problem though, isn’t it, Mum? You never want to talk about it and she always gets her own way, just like when Dad was alive.” Aegon says, his voice raising an octave with every word.

“Oh, I think you’ve gotten far more than what is owed to you.” Rhaenyra glares at him.

Aemond slams his fist on the table, causing everyone to startle. He stands abruptly, storming from the room.

She isn’t sure of where to look, she has never felt more uncomfortable in her entire life than she does right now. The atmosphere around the dinner table is horribly strained and she is suddenly glad of the opportunity to play up to her part of concerned girlfriend in order to get away from it.

“I’ll…um…I’ll just go and see where he’s gone.” She says shakily, eager to get away from the sour, sullen faces that now surround her.

She finds Aemond stood outside in the back garden, leaning against the railing of the patio decking as he smokes a cigarette.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t.” He responds, taking another drag.

“Anything in there that you wanted to talk about?” She offers meekly.

“I don’t pay you enough for that.” He sighs.

Her face falls slightly at this. Each reminder of what their relationship really is is like a punch to the gut. She leans against the railing, placing her hand next to his.

“Whatever it is, I’m sorry. If you ever do need to talk though, I’m happy to listen.”

Aemond flicks the cigarette away, crushing it under foot. “I just…just once it would be nice to feel appreciated.”

“I appreciate you.” She tells him honestly, her little finger stroking over his as she stares up at him.

His face softens as he looks down at her and for the first time since she stepped outside she feels like he is seeing her, really seeing her. His hand moves from the railing to brush her hair away from her face and as his eye moves from hers to her lips, she leans up and presses them to his. This time he doesn’t stop her.

He tastes of cigarettes and red wine, it’s a heady combination, intensified by the plushness of his lips. All too soon, he is pulling away, breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have done that.” He admits.

“But I wanted to.” She pleads earnestly.

He wraps his arms around her then, one hand clutching desperately between her shoulder blades, as the other buries itself in her hair. He kisses her like he is a man starved of oxygen and he needs her to breathe. She whimpers as she feels his tongue work itself against her own. Nobody has ever kissed her like this before, it makes her head swim and heat lick at her lower belly.

“Go to dinner with me on Friday.” He says breathlessly, once their lips part. “Just me and you.”

“I’d love to.” She whispers.

Chapter one || Chapter three || Series masterlist

[emithecharmer]

Will You Marry Me

Teasing (It's Lee Know), eating, mentions of heights and acrophobia, so much fluff that you can choke, oh! mentions of choking (LK eats too fast, but he's fine) Sorry for ant typos!! I was sobbing by the end of this 😭

"Hey Min-min!" You cheered as you walked into his dance studio.

"Hey, stink. You ready?" He asked, putting his water into his bag.

"Mhm! We're going on a date." You smiled excitedly, practically bouncing in impatience.

"Ugh, don't remind me." He gagged, throwing his arm around your shoulder and bringing you close to kiss the top of your head.

"How were your exams?" He asked, taking your purse from you and holding it.

"They went pretty well, I felt good about them, they weren't as hard as I thought they'd be." You said bashfully as Minho turned to lock the door.

"Where do you want to go, kitty?" He asked, moving his arm to your waist with the faux intention to squeeze your waist, only to tickle you instead. You squealed and jumped away from him, swatting his hand.

"Why'd you run away from me? You don't love me anymore?" He said with a dramatized pout.

"Don't tickle me." You frowned, stomping your foot, an act in which he felt had no reason to be so utterly adorable coming from you.

"Fine fine, no tickles." He said, opening his arm, letting you cling to him again, only to tickle you again.

"Min.." You whined, making him gawk at you.

"I plead the fifth." He said.

"I don't think that same law applies here." You said, raising a brow at him.

"Shh, it does to me."

.

"I'm starting to think you like Japanese food more than you love me." You pouted, obviously not telling the truth.

"Oh no, however would you come to that conclusion?" Your boyfriend asked, actively eating sushi while already eyeing another piece.

"..It's one of the wonders of the world." You snickered as you watched him slightly choke.

"Do you want ice cream after?" He asked, taking a bite of the sashimi platter he'd ordered four of.

"Ooh, funny you mention that, a new frozen yogurt place just opened! And it's by that lounge place!" Minho watched as your eye lit up at the sound of the 'lounge place' as you called it.

It was actually an apartment building your friend lived in, but she was gone a lot, and allowed you a key so you could freely go in and out, as long as you cleaned up after yourself. Minho knew how much you loved to go to the rooftop and over look the city, he knew that you would be there every waking hour if you could. He also, knew you would mention wanting to go there.

"Sure baby, we'll go on the roof." He said, you missed the subtle smirk he had, thinking it was just his expression.

"Are you completely sure? The last time we were there I honestly thought I'd have to call the fire department." His head jolted up as he glared playfully (menacingly) at you.

"We agreed to never speak of that incident."

"Right, right, please forgive me." You said, giggling cheekily. Minho rolled his eyes, but that did stop the bunny smile that creeped on his face at the sight of your dimples.

.

After Minho payed and you two left the restaurant, you headed to the frozen yogurt place.

"Thank you s-" You started.

"If you call me your sugar daddy one more time, I will leave you right now." He said, but doing the opposite as he pulled you closer to him.

.

"I don't like the places that charge you based on your cup size instead of weight." Minho said as you two sat down.

"Why?" you asked.

"Well, I know it's for toppings and stuff, but I don't get toppings, so it just defeats the purpose for me." He said.

"Oh yeah..I completely understand." Making a statement by staring at your cup, that was filled to the brim with froyo, and almost drowned in added toppings. Minho glanced at your and cackled at your expression.

"Maybe I like it for you." He said, stealing a gummy bear from your bowl.

.

"Balcony, balcony, balcony." You chanted as you walked inside the apartment building.

"Excited?" Minho asked, smirking at your enthusiasm.

"So excited. So excited that I have to pee." You said.

"Pfft-" Minho sputtered a laugh at your shamelessness.

"I'll go on up and meet you there." He said, making your eyebrows raise.

"Really? You don't need me to hold your hand?" You asked, making Minho turn on his heel and walk to the elevator, leaving you to laugh.

.

You walked into the elevator and hit the 'R.' You had to refrain from jumping, since you knew to not do that in an elevator, but that didn't diminish your excitement any less. The bell dinged louder than you were used to, scaring you into dropping your phone as the doors opened. You leant down to pick it up and when you looked up you gasped.

Minho was there, standing in the middle of a flowery isle, smiling nervously. You were frozen in shock, so frozen in-fact that the doors actually shut and you had to press the button to open them again. You stepped out of the elevator and sighed as you looked at your boyfriend, who had a look or worry in his face. Your eyes swelled with tears and he groaned.

"Don't cry yet, we're not even to the good part." He whined.

"This is not real." You said, closing you eyes tightly.

"Y/n.." He chuckled, making you peek.

"C'mere, baby." He continued. You slowly walked up to him and he lifted his hand to rub your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't even know was there.

"Y/n.." You lip wobbled as he began his speech, making him smile at you.

"This sounds so utterly cliché, but I knew from the moment I met you, I knew you'd be my wife one day. You are truly one of the most amazing people I've met, and you surprise with something new each day. Whether it's a new fact, a new talent you figured out you could do, or a scar that you found on your leg that looks like the island of Okinawa.. You are full of surprises, and I'm glad I could finally surprise you. In our two years, you've shown me nothing but love and acceptance, even in times where I'm pretty sure a punch would have sufficed." You gave a him a nudge, all the while sobbing at this point.

"You aren't just my girlfriend, or my love, you're my soulmate. You're the epitome of a feeling I didn't even imagine was possible until I met you. I am completely bound to you, something that scared me in the past, but now I crave for it. I love you, Y/n.." You saw his facade break slowly as he let a tear stream down.

"I love you doesn't even cover what I feel for you anymore. You are my life, and you are the reason my heart beats. I would love to be the same for you, please let me keep loving you forever, as your husband." He pulled his hands away as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box.

"Y/n, will you do me the greatest honor, and be my wife?" He asked, getting down on one knee and-

"Yes." You said, not even letting him open the box.

"Yes?" He seemed completely shocked at your answer for a few seconds before he stood up.

"Yes, oh my gosh, Min. Yes." You said, hugging him tightly, bringing your hand to hold the back of his head as you sobbed. He pulled away slightly, only to kiss you softly.

"No take-backs." He said, pointedly.

"Wouldn't even dream of it, you're mine, forever now." You said, pulling him in for another kiss.

[vampirae]

🌠 Miscellaneous Thoughts 🌌

It contains +18 themes❤️‍🔥

Usually Pisces mars or Pisces placements are (in)famous for being a fetishist; but personally I found more subtle placements in Pisces liking feets, like Lilith, Eros, asteroid Lust or Mars being aspected by Neptune. Also to some degree even placements in Aquarius but mostly Capricorn could have a liking for legs and feets.

Talking about legs; Sagittarius and Libra placements have the biggest love for tights and butt. They love to touch or being touched in those area.

About butt, I've noticed that Virgo sun males like anal sex, low-key obsessed with. The type to ask you to do it or just playing around trying to understand if you're down for it or nah.

Leo venus + Scorpio placement (s) tend to be so obsessed or lovesick with their partner, but also they tend to be overwhelming and usually suspects the partner of cheating or having another lover. In some cases it happens; what they fear materializes which leave them even more possessive and paranoid.

Scorpio moons are so good at reading people except when it comes to best friends or lovers, unless you're hella obvious. They can create a psychological profile of every person they take interest or interact with.

Mutable risings are so chill and playful, the type to scam you (if they wished) without you thinking twice or doubting them in some way.

Furthermore mutable risings are so theatral lmao, they're such good actors but usually they act to make a good impression (because anxiety) or just for fun <3

Can we talk about Gemini rising beauty? So charismatic and pixie like even men, like damn so charming and their smile? Absolutely stunning and attractive.

Virgo men sun are definitely a practical "sugar daddy" placement, the type to buy stuff or gifts you need; like a new bag, shoes or stuff like this. Rarely they'll give you money, and usually they give you money only if you need it, like for rent or groceries. Always for necessities, never for pleasure/vices.

Leo sun men with Virgo venus tends to cheat, a lot. I've meet so many man with this placements, that at this point I can say with certainty that it's a fucking pattern. I'm sorry for their wives.

Cardinal venusians love with intensity and it's really sexy. They can be really slow or really fast. In my opinion and experience they can be very compatible and have a more deep connection with other cardinal venusians. The type to seriously think about marriage.

Man with mars/jupiter aspects 🔥🥵 kinky, high sex appeal, usually lasts a lot, multiple times, leaning to Dom and BDSM even a Libra mars can be your "Daddy/Master"

Capricorn mars are the type to look for mastering positions, tongue technology (🤭), and whatever pleases their partner or them.

Cancer mars aren't so loyal or clingy as portraid, they can be very selfish and prone to enjoy multiple partners, always acting like a loyal puppy in front of their lovers, particularly men.

[ficsnroses]

—“𝑾𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏, 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒓𝒖𝒎 𝒐𝒏 𝒂 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆”.

—𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑾𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓—

prompt: you are a sin, carefully crafted by no hands other than his.

summary: john uses you. what started as a simple agreement, however, has blossomed into something a little more...on both ends.

warnings: sugar daddy au. sm*t. consensual sex. oral sex (male and female receiving). slight angst. cigarette smoking. x f! reader. 6.4k words.

notes: hi everyone! this is obviously quite different than stuff I usually write. please go easy on me, I'm only testing the waters here asdfghjkl this could turn into a universe of its own with more chapters/drabbles if I get more inspiration or ideas. this fic was written as a sort of introduction to this world. please lemme know what you think!

title creds: honestly all my titles are some form of a hozier lyric at this point lol

Ten, perhaps eleven.

That must have been it, precisely so. The age he’d stopped looking under his bed for monsters. He’d gathered a rather bitter truth by then.

They don’t just hide under your bed.

New York City is beautiful this time of year. He still sees your sundress behind closed eyelids.

Summer state of mind, dewy skin. Thin camisole straps, sweetheart neckline, silky fabric kissing you in all the right places. Alluring around your waist;

like a lover it had clung to you. Traced each delicate part of you, just as his hands did.

Outside, a subtle gray pours. He looks more dishevelled than usual, stiff shoulders only accentuated by the pirouette of cold air through his home. The day had melted into one rhythmic beat of blue.

A feeling that had become far too familiar as of late.

He’d come to realize that, too.

It lives inside him.

Just like the monster. This gray follows him. It lives in him, too.

The stress ball had left the grip of his fingers for perhaps the millionth time today. Sailing easily through the air before gravity would sink its jaws in, immediately dragging it down.

     Funny that.

     Everything that goes up must come back down.

A cup of day old coffee soaks up the sounds. To the wooden coffee table it sits, listening. Observing, watching a man one, perhaps two decades your senior slowly deteriorate to the mere thought of you.

John Wick is a man of focus. Commitment, sheer fucking will.

A life free of suffering. Promises are more often than not conditional— another bitter truth he’d realized at a hardly ripened age. Battered bones and lonesome evenings. It used to provide some semblance, a ray of hope to remember that sins are often no work of conscious choice.

Choice is riddled with careful calculation, thought, voluntariness.

This, however, was choice.

You were a choice. A choice he made, he wanted.

This was a sin carefully crafted by no hands others than his.

You, with your beautiful soul and gorgeous smile. Your soft pink lips that sinned for him, your easy voice and gentle touch.

Perhaps he’d tainted you. Ruined you with his expert touch. Stripped you of that gentle innocence. Made you sin in the dark. Sin, with him.

     Funny that, he thinks.

     Only an angel like you would kiss the damned.

How could he have let it get this way. Only a fool, an imbecile would let it get this far. An imbecile, who had let the beating hunk of flesh on the left of his chest remember each and every thing about you. The smell of your hair, the lone glimmer that erupts in your chuckle. There is a simmering sort of rage that washes through his veins, the ball now held in a white knuckle grip. John’s expression flickers, the blue light of his phone screen illuminating just to the right of him, rested to the crème sofa shallow.

Your name has begun to send a gold rush to flow inside him.

     “Do you need me tonight?”

It is becoming more and more difficult.

Everything that goes up must come down.

It was only a matter of time now.

You remember everything.

The first night John had used you.

You thought you were bound to be a no one. A ghost—a decoration on his arm. A shadow, merely. A vessel with no purpose other than this man’s pleasure.

He’d always made you more, nonetheless.

You feel his skin warm under your touch, arm curled around his bicep as you wade your way through the crowd alongside him. The speakeasy is packed, and you note the way you’re being watched by elites in the crowd over the sound of blaring music.

The lounge is top tier, an array of high profile individuals dwelling the space. You’d heard whispers of The Continental hotel before, but to attend a social event within its corridors?

That was the first time you’d realized just how highly regarded Mr. Wick truly had been.

Dim club light danced over his features, a crystal glass of amber bourbon in one hand, the delicate curve of your back under the other. He’d held you loosely all evening, close by the waist, stocky thumb brushing over your exposed skin revealed by a black fitted dress.

He’d been watching you all evening.

Even if your arm never left his, even if you were entirely, only, unconditionally his for everyone to see. The pads of his fingers are sunk into your waist as you stand alongside him—not enough to be hurt, but enough to feel held.

Led. Desired.

John’s expression was blank, closed off yet still laced with that unnerving glimmer of interest that he usually hid so very well. Clad in all black, blazer crisp and his hair slicked back neatly. John looked rather more like a sinful, dark promise than a man.

A promise of ruin.

“She’s beautiful, John.”

It’s a funny thing. You hadn’t been able to shake the thought all evening, to say the least.

John Wick is nothing short of a delicacy. Titan shoulders, rippling biceps. They bulge each time he lifts his arm to take his drink. A voice that tides easily, smooth yet gravelly all at once. Something about the way that his hair flows lovingly in dark brown hues makes your pulse threaten to race.

Some of his acquaintances regard him by his full name.

Jonathan.

Jonathan. It suits him.

John looks good on him.

Surely a man such as him would have no trouble. What fool could pass on him? You wonder how many women have crumbled under this very gaze he channels into you tonight.  

You’d never guess John to be the type to partake in this…exchange of service, if you will.

He is your provider, your employer, even. John is the first and only man you’ve offered your service to. And he is far from the type of man you had expected to want you.

The evening melts into a rhythmic pulse. Strangers, unfamiliar bodies. Many of whom seem conceited, influential, significant. Neon lights dance over the scene, and you can’t help but feel immensely out of place.

“Lets go.” John breathes hotly into your ear, barely above a whisper, his arm around your waist tightening in its hold. The sudden shift is prominent, intimidating, even. The heated look in his eyes almost constitutes the physical weight of want.

The music becomes nothing more than a pulse.

And your thoughts become nothing more than a beat along with it.

It wasn’t long before your hand melts held within John’s unyielding grip, and his focus is little diverted as he leads you out of the club.

And the drive home is one that makes you swallow with anticipation. A hushed breath slips past your lips as you sit in the passenger seat of Mr. Wick’s Mustang 69’. His expression remains a mirror of the one earlier, blank, closed off, unnerving glimmer. Only the delicate brown of his eyes looked almost black now, shadows of his side profile making him appear more than just dangerous.

Something less, yet at the same time more human all at once. A raw, daunting thing.

His dark eyes stay fixed on the road ahead, speeding through the charcoal night streets of New York City under blue midnight. You sneak a few glances his way; his jaw tense and gaze set, and it had been tough to ignore the shiver of delight at the ravenous look he gave you.

Capable hands. Strong, thick, callous yet soft all at once. It leaves a fire in its wake. It ignites you to the bone. The feeling of his fingers brushing the inside of your thigh, sampling, savouring your skin.

That night was the first time John made you his. And that night you learned a much familiar truth. One that brings you a simmering comfort now.

You could never be scared of John. He will never hurt you.

Petrifying to others, but never to you.

He fucked you in his house that night.

Missionary.

In the darkness of the midnight light, no one to see, no one to hear except you and him.

Hot and heavy. Big, warm and beautiful. His larger frame on top, fingertips digging into the feminine swell of your bare hips as he pounds into you roughly, hastily, harshly.

Your fingernails dig into him, too. Red marks and pulsing skin. Your legs aching from spreading for him, your pussy sore, throbbing from his repeated assault. You remember wincing from the sheer girth of his cock, mewling, desperately clinging to his nude form above you.

You lay there underneath him. Devouring the love he gives. Urging him to go faster, yearning for him to fuck you selfishly until each part of you ached in his name. Quiet and tender grunts leave his throat, melting into your skin. Hardened nipples and plump breasts press to his chest, your modesty bouncing to the steady pace he’d conjured up. Your legs had snaked around his waist under the sheets in order to feel him deeper, gentle sighs and stifling gasps only encouraging him to corrupt you further.

He doesn’t touch you like anyone you’ve ever had before. John is different, he is a fire that seeps. He caresses, claims, and devours you with a startling sum of intensity.

It baffles you, how he says so little yet so much all at once. He’d hardly uttered two sentences to you the entire evening, yet the mark he leaves on you is colossal.

The bedframe creaked all night.

The thrusting seemed to never stop.

You thought he might just break you.

The salty smell of his skin, the sweet smell of your nectar dripping onto the sheets, soaking the insides of your thighs.

He sampled you as if a fine wine, buried between your legs, his mouth greedy on each inch of your skin. His swollen manhood slaps against your core repeatedly, the sound of skin slapping skin protruding in the quiet room air. Moonlight dances over his features, and your whines are reduced to hitched cries when you feel that slight curve of his cock brushing the deepest pits of you— so much do you’d swore you felt him in your stomach.

He came inside you that night. Just where he likes it.

Mr. Wick always finishes inside you.

And through the feeling of his skin sticking to yours and his shuddering breath felt between the valley of your breasts, you crumble to the way his heavy cum seeps out of you, onto his silk bedsheets. The rise and fall of his chest is steady, and his arms look unfairly toned, large with bulged veins as they are placed on either side of you. His eyes gloss over your breasts, curved perfectly to his liking, admiring the way your skin is flushed with a dew under cutting moonlight.

Patient eyes and silent strength. Mr. Wick has always been a man of few words. It intrigues you, how focused and smooth his speech is.

There is nothing patronizing to be found in his smooth gaze.

You’d heard him mumble into your skin. A prayer, possibly a damnation. Or perhaps both.

It wasn’t long before your eyes connect with his deeper ones, panting breaths gentle as they melt together after the deed. You don’t say a word either. You simply regard, admire the delicate dips and slopes of his face.

The sharpness of his jaw, the curve of his collarbone. The laugh lines that pepper to the corners of his eyes, the way his beard is perfectly aligned, making him appear unfairly handsome.

He stares, too. Hot, wet breath burning against the hallow of your throat. His lips ghost over your pulse, and you can’t help but recite a simple prayer in your satiated, sex satisfied & disgruntled head.

Write stories on my skin.

Make me sin.

“Don’t stop…” was your quiet, breathless whisper into the sturdy swell of his bare shoulder, his lips pressing gentle, purple bruises into your modesty. “Please don’t stop touching me…”

You are his doll. A vessel, a hallow shell reserved for nothing at all,

but this mans pleasure.

You’d never been one to splurge on yourself. Spending ungodly amounts of money on materialistic things was never something you’d been fond of. More often than not, you were able to simply make ends meet and live comfortably. Spending thousands of dollars on designer clothes and bags just seemed rather…silly.

Perhaps you’ve been held of that simple joy.

Perhaps the universe has held you of many things, though.

John Wick is a man of finery.

Certainly, he never holds back when it comes to you.

Posh chocolates, fine cut jewelry, lavish bouquets. Lingerie.

You remember that lilac summer sunset so very well. The smell of summer peaches in the air. That night was the first time you’d worn lingerie for John. Lingerie that he had delivered to your home.

And it was certainly not the last.

You’d felt a nameless emotion bubble in the pit of your stomach that evening, standing at John’s doorstep. John had been fucking you as often as he pleased that entire week. Sex with him had become almost routine, not that you had much to complain about, anyway.

John is not your boyfriend. He is no significant other. He is simply the man who pays your bills, helps you when you need it most.

Yet still, a glimmer of longing pierces through your heart.

You do not love John.

Nonetheless, what you do together is oh so proximate. Intimate. The thought of him is unforgiving.

Sometimes, you think he is a saint with the lips of a sinner.

Sometimes, he touches you so dishonourably, you swear he is the devil himself.  

Sometimes, you’ll find him buried between your thighs, lapping long, slow strokes over the sweet nectar that drips your petals.

Slow, appreciative hums.

He claims and devours your body, but he gives his to you, too.

You’ll find yourself ruining in the sounds. Revelling, dissolving. Your hands tousled in his hair, legs on his shoulders, his lips on your cunt.

Those sweet, holy sounds. Hot breath, wet pleasure. Quiet kisses and quivering slurps.

The burn has become achingly familiar; the burn his manly stubble leaves through wet, buttery kisses along your drenched pussy. With his mouth over the pearl of your clit, he slowly sucks his poison into you. His tongue is a little piece of paradise, warm, wet, made to love you. and you whisper then and there, to the heavens up above.

You’d suffer hell. if he’d be there, too.

You think you’ve heard it before. An old maxim, folklore. Each lover leaves a mark on your skin. A part of you has already begun to be written in his name.

That part of you that whispers his name in your dreams. Withers just a little when his lips touch yours.

Its tough to hold back. To not feel him when you’ve spent countless nights with his manhood curled between your legs.

You find him on the balcony of his master bed room. There was a familiar, certain heat and yearn as your eyes traced the powerful dips of his back, the sturdy line of his shoulders, his messy hair falling into place like ripples.

You watched him with the same hunger he often watched you. A cigarette hung limply between his lips, a cloud of gusting smoke pirouetting away with the gentle summer evening breeze.

There is a certain softness to him that you’ve never seen before, yet also such a haunting allure. Something sensual, something seductive. As if a fine bourbon; Mr. Wick’s physique demands appreciation, before it is time to drink.

Firm biceps, defined torso. Powerful slopes and peaks, muscles that swell, constrained by the seams of a light shirt.

He is charming.

Aged like a fine scotch. A calamity of hunger, brazen and all things shameless.

But not without stealth. Silent like deep water.

He wears this dread, this darkness like some men wear a crisp black suit. There is something about him so very heavy and dark, waiting to plunge like rain.

You drown willingly.

And it felt like heaven, to let hell wrap his fingers around your throat and consume you.

You don’t know what John does, how he affords the very luxuries that adorn on your skin.

Whatever line of work he may be in.

A man of scarce words. You fear it is something wicked. Something dangerous, something that holds the potential to take him away from you.

You try to ignore that part of you, that little something in your chest that coils in unease to the very thought of it. Part of you is no longer sure if you want to push the thought away or lean into it— pursue a connection with John in which he may confide in you, should he need. You hate the thought just as much as you secretly crave it; crave to know just who Mr. Wick really is.

What he is truly capable of.

It doesn’t take long for you to make yourself known.

You know better than to sneak up on a man you know so little of.

There might have been a certain heat and longing as your eyes trace the slumped shape of his titan shoulders and messy mocha hair. John’s lean figure turns slightly, gaze intent on you as you take measured steps towards him, lips tugging into a smile and an extra little sway to your hips.

His tongue rolls the cigarette between his teeth before sipping a small drag, and tugging it from between his lips. “Hi.” he speaks simply, golden sun highlighting the pasty pale of his skin, and the few tan freckles that barely leave the ghost of a pepper along his nose.

He thinks you look beautiful today.

He always thinks you do, nevertheless.

He was silent for a long minute as he watched you amble toward him, placing the cigarette back between his parted lips, not breaking your gaze. It is not long before you are in his space, and your lips ghost over the sharpness of his jaw as you tiptoed to reach him, admiring the way he curls a lazy arm around your waist. With a light shift, you tuck yourself into him—his stocky palm coming to rest on your hip firmly, your back pressed to his chest as you both peer into the New York City skyline distance.

A rosy blush peppers to your cheeks recalling the way he had just looked at you, eyes flashing upon you with a smouldering, heart-stopping sort of thirst. “I didn’t know you smoke?” was your quiet question, and you feel the deep vibration of his baritone against your back, surging through you like fire surges gasoline.

Part of you had missed him, truly, despite having just been between his sheets a day prior; and you weren’t shy in showing him when your hand reaches behind yourself to tangle, raking through his messy long tresses.

“Sometimes.” was his deep, brassy return that melts against the shell of your ear. You allow a simple hum, both your eyes locked out into the distance city skyline. New York is beautiful this time of day; the city sunset bleeds a delicate orange.

The quiet intensity of his breath is oh so electrifying, the way you feel each pulse against your back as he holds you loosely by one arm. Makes the blood in your ears roar.

It’s not long before you take his hand, slowly tracing it under the flimsy material of your shirt, guiding it to brush over the skimpy material of your lacy black lingerie, offering him a suggestive look as you tilt your head back. You feel his fingers brush over the curve of your modesty, leaving that familiar fire in their wake.

John arches an eyebrow, and takes a slow drag of his cigarette. “For me?” he murmurs tightly, eyes narrowing with a small grin, and you feel your nipples harden under his expert touch. You only peer at him over the hike of his shoulder, a knowing little smile on your lips as you take his hand in yours, leading him inside the master bedroom.

You mumble a hot moan into his ear as you push him onto the bed, lips seductively nibbling his earlobe for a brief moment before you pull back. Leaning forward, you ghost your lips over his before laying a lingering kiss against the corner of his mouth, gaze locked to his as the words he allows send a shiver erupting down to the very marrow of you.

“Take your clothes off for me.”

Sauntering back, a sly smirk dawns on your features, glossy orbs never leaving his as you follow his demand.

Pleasing Mr. Wick has easily become your favourite thing to do.

John is looking at you as if you are his next meal; predatory, consuming. Driven by something far more than just simple, sultry lust.

A low, pleased sigh spills from his lips as his hand trails to his swollen bulge, pulling himself out of the dark blue jean seams. To the sight of you stripping, he strokes his cock slow, appreciatively, dragging his bottom lip between the clasp of his teeth.

It doesn’t surprise John when you take your time. Hands moving slow, seductive in their endeavour over your skin.

little did he know, your face betrays your own eagerness for him.

Your lips are longing, and your body seems to gravitate towards him with little effort. You can’t wait to let him touch you, hold you, so he can kiss you painfully slow like he does all too well.

“That’s it, just like that.” He soothes, breathless, thumb swirling the head of his thick cock, and you can hear the subtle smile in his hushed voice. “Just look at you…” You only grin, a seductive sound melting from deep within your throat; an unholy, warm kind of sound that makes John’s cock throb to the sight of you.

He sounds like he’s talking through gravel; tone low and suave.  His hand strokes his member with startling ease, and you wonder how often he’d done this to himself. How often he’d needed release with no one to help…

With a gentle sway of your evocative hips, John groans impatiently at how slow your fingers dance over your delicate regions—exactly where he was dying to touch you. Gently, with your fingertips agonizingly deliberate and precise, you undo the buttons of your chiffon camisole, never breaking eye contact with his darker orbs. He admires the way your hair falls delicately along the contours of your visage— the way the fragile textile cascades off the swell of your voluptuous breasts when you peel the thin straps from your shoulders. The top falls to the crème carpet floor, pooling at your feet and John sighs to the sight of your cleavage on tormenting display for him, a lace embroidered lingerie bra adorned to your chest. Its raunchy, its sexy, and its sheer.

Low cut. Sinful. Black as the night, and the way your nipples are seen through the filmy seams causes his hand to tighten around his cock in anticipation of what you could do to him.

Its not long before your fingers begin their endeavour on the zipper of your jeans, gently peeling the material down as if unwrapping the most delicate of presents. His lips curl into an amused smile when you dip the fabric, allowing it to reveal the lacy black G-string underneath. Flawlessly delectable, a captivating goddess in your own right. He is simply drunk on you, completely your prisoner.

You destroy him with nothing but a bite of your lip, and your penetrating gaze on him.

His eyes devour you.

There is something about the way this exchange has worked out. John and you. What you do together.

A harmony of cold and warm. Of light and dark.

There is something so mysterious about him, so quiet, so discreet. As if something lurks in the shadows and could swallow you whole if it wanted to. But there is something about you, too.

Something soft, something dreamlike.

And this, this is dangerous. You are dangerous.

You make him want to sin.

The very deed he has ran from his entire life. The very corrupt feat his hands have far too much experience playing. The sin that has followed him his entire life is one that sends shivers bone deep through all men who hear of his name. A sin that was taught to him. A sin that ensured his survival.

You, however. You are a sin like no other.

You are a choice. A conscious, carefully calculated choice.

You are something beautiful, something to be enjoyed.

This is intimate, immoral, even, and the air between you is practically always suffocating. Something wild burns between you both.

It is not long before you peel off your jeans completely, skin a dewy glow as you stand there in front of him. Adorned in a vulgar set of pristine lace, black stockings upheld by a sultry garter belt embellished on your smooth thighs. Your hair is a silky flood, and the way your breasts are pursed together oh so tight entices something inside him. He stares into you with lips parted and eyes half lidded. He looks at you as if you are the only thing worth looking at in the entire world.

“Beautiful…so fucking beautiful…” was his low, throaty return. John’s erection is growing intimidatingly large, awakened by the sight of your body on full display for him. “You make me happy, babygirl.”

You mirror a fucking sex siren.

It is not long before you amble closer to him, a mere few inches away when your fingers barely ghost the curve of his cock, legs spreading to take place in the firm of his lap. Your pussy is dangerously close to his manhood, and the mere feel of your peachy ass touching his skin elicits a deep grunt of pleasure off his lips. It is not long before his stocky digits are planted to your behind, fingertips sinking in as his arms curl around you.

The way he is looking at you. That simple, primitive stare. He is like a shard of glass that is scratching from deep inside your chest.

It is intimidating almost, to feel so desired. So needed by someone in a single moment.

“Say you’re mine.”

Your hands ghost his chest as his fingertips dig into you.

“Only yours. I belong to you.”

It is not long before you take his cock in your softer grip, offering gentle, measly tugs to the sensitive skin as you work him tender. Your lips move slow, hot mouth ghosting over the dips and curves of his lips, before your forehead rests to his warmer one. Your teeth scrape against his pulse possessively, and desire burns through your body as you greedily explore his rosy skin, gasping in appreciation as his hands map each inch of your breasts, your hips and your ass so very needily.

It’s a quiet, almost breathless sound. So discreet, so filthy. “How do you want me?”

He simply brushes his thumb along your bottom lip, eyes intent on the bow. On your tight, wet, beautifully warm mouth.

And you, waste no time.

You trail wet, lazy kisses down his neck, down his chest as your gentle fingers work the buttons of his white t-shirt. Nails tracing down gently, you feel lean muscles ripple under your touch, and his dangerously erect cock hot to the tip, pressing against your skin.

You end the night with his cock shoved down your throat, and the taste of him on your tongue. Your hands on his thighs, his tangled in your hair.

And, his hot, glossy cum dripping down your lips.

Sometimes you dreamed of eyes so rich you’d drown in them.

John gives you a room in his home. One where you can stay if he wants you to. He values your privacy and allows you to breathe on your own, collect yourself and replenish if needed.

Of course, not before he has his way with you,

however he pleases.

From shower sex to mirror sex, on the marble kitchen countertop too. Light bondage and rough— Mr. Wick is a man of many surprises.

Some nights, he asks you to sleep in his bed. With him.

And you find it tough in yourself to lie. Perhaps on those nights, you feel most safe.

Most safe— with your head on his chest as he holds you loosely, or with his arm hung on your waist, where you can feel just about every pulse of breath that rings through him. Most safe, with his breath on your neck and the feeling of him on your skin.

Some nights, you’ll wake in the middle of the dark to the sound of his lips on your neck, and his heavy hand dangerously close to the most intimate parts of you.

A slow kiss against your nude spine, another to the nape of your neck.

When Mr. Wick wants you, it is hard for him to resist.

Some nights, he asks you to sleep alongside him in a thin lacy thong. Nothing but a thin, lacy thong. Some nights, you find his eyes drag slowly over your still, naked body, just barely covered by the fine mulberry silk of his sheets.

You know exactly what he wants. What he needs.

A beautiful, wicked thing. He could ruin you, and perhaps he’d love to watch you ruin.

You’ll slowly roll over on top of him, dewy thighs straddling his, gentle in your movement when you quietly slip him in with a steady, lazy roll of your hips on his cock. You bounce for him, nude tits on full display under the cutting moonlight, and his hands roaming delicately over them as silent, low grunts fall off his lips.

You dip, leaning down with your arms curling around his neck and your modesty pressed to his chest, riding him still, and find his sturdy arms wrap around you, rested to the small of your back where they roam.

John kisses your neck leisurely, breathing hot, quiet moans of pleasure into the shell of your ear and your nails sink into the rosy flesh of his shoulders, steadying yourself with shallow sighs of his name.

John. John. John—

You cling to him in the dark morning air, no longer sure where he ends and you begin.

And learn he is a man easy to please.

One that admires lazy love just as much as a rough, heavy fuck that makes you plead.

Some nights, John sleeps through entirely.

And you however, stay awake.

Staring out the window, with the feel of his hand under your thin cotton shirt, rested just below the curve of your breasts. Sans bra is how he likes it.

Sometimes, you’ll slip your hand under the flimsy material, too, to rest over his. And you’ve come to realize an unswerving truth. The beats of his breath sync with yours when you do so.

You’ve realized a bitter truth, too.

Deflection is easier than admitting how nice, how sheltered it feels to have him hold you like this on quiet nights.

He is alone.

And in many ways, perhaps you, are too.

You’ve never trembled in the presence of a wolf.

It’s a funny thing. That human bodies are oh so simple. So unassuming, that you’d never guessed you’d been sharing a bed with the worlds finest assassin.

So simple, that perhaps the very angel of death himself hadn’t known.

You are slowly becoming the very breath in his lungs.

Sometimes he dreams of eyes so beautiful, he drowns in them.

And maybe he is afraid they will become love.

If they aren’t already.

He woke up in an empty bed that day, yet not without the thought of you imprinted on his mind.

The way you brush along his skin with your fingers so gentle, it almost resembles love. The way your arms lock around him as if shackles when you offer yourself to him, clinging to his skin as you do what lovers do. How you trace lazy patterns on his skin, how you gravitate towards him even when not willingly so.

It is only then that he accepts the lone, painfully singular truth.

He will never be free.

Of sin, of vice. Of you.

It is true. Bitterly, entirely, lamentably.

Only an angel like you would kiss the damned. And the damned are greedy. Always wanting, always longing for more, more and more of what cannot be theirs.

The stress ball leaves his grip for perhaps the millionth time that day. Sat alone within the deep folds of his home, a depth so lonesome, as he has come to realize. There is no colour here, no vibrant laughs. No story to be told over a white picket fence, no promise of a presence that has become achingly familiar.

((her))..((her))..((her))..

He feels a nameless emotion brew in the deepest pits of him, something he cannot quite explain because it does not make sense to him, either.

The air around him seems to thrum with anger. Cutting and vicious, a coil of dearth.

He sits there silently; he holds that fire in his veins. And he realizes another, painfully palpable truth. He is missing you. More and more by the seconds you are departed, more and more by the unwillingness he feels to be without you.

What a fool. An imbecilic, a fool.  It is becoming more and more difficult to be without you.

He delves the seams of his pocket, fishing for what he already knew was his metal slate lighter. And not without it, a lone cigarette to tug between his lips. A muffled curse echoes through the air when he clicks the lighter a few times, with little success in igniting the bud. The cold air of the dimly hit room seems to stop him, and the lighter refuses to light up.

It is not long before both are discarded with an irritated fling.

Both fall with unwitting ease.

Funny, that. Everything that goes up  m u s t  come down.

It was only a matter of time now.

What a fool. An imbecile, a clown. He realizes another bitter truth for the second time in his life. One that cuts through him like a blade, a dagger that no other than himself had carefully been constructing. Roars in his ears like a hot rush of blood. A tale as old as time, and just like that, the world goes silent.

It is so startling, that for a second he only seems to gape at the white walls numbly.

You are the cure. The lone thing that fixed every ache inside him.

A fool. An imbecile. He cannot let this happen. He cannot. A fool. The very shadow of death himself cannot fall in love with you.  

You, with your beautiful smile and gentle hands. Your kind heart that sooths him, despite his greatest attempts to smother it. Your body that is slowly beginning to feel like home, your unyielding embrace that shelters that bitter cold inside him.

It is a funny thing, human bodies.

Always longing, always chasing. They run toward pleasure, away from pain.

Sex is precisely just that; sex. Meaningless, raw, soul emptying sex. Heavy, naked need that wrecks that little longing inside, that little part that wishes for the simplest of human needs.

Compensation for, awarding him your body was supposed to keep it safe. Create a distance, keep you from burning between the havoc that is him. He is an open flame. Leaves only pain and destruction in his wake. Burns, devours, wraths.

Needs.

A bitter truth, indeed.

John Wick needs. And maybe mindless, casual sex was not that fundamental thing.

And maybe that makes him a fool, too. To know it is sin that he wishes to leave. Sin, that he has longed for no part of. He created this interchange with you. Created this sin with you to give him relief. To soothe that fire inside him, that burn he carries in his veins.

He created this world with you. And he could destroy it, too.

But he doesn’t know if he can.

It is becoming more and more difficult. He is fire, and you are gasoline.

You will never be free.

The Reaper himself has begun to creep his way into your heart. and you, have begun to grow over his like moss on stone, too.

It was only a matter of time now.

All that goes up must come down.

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